


365 Days of Drabbles

by Millohoff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble Collection, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-10-03 01:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 60
Words: 26,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17274788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millohoff/pseuds/Millohoff
Summary: As the title suggests this is my attempt at doing a drabble a day each day of 2019 - let's see how I get on.The drabbles will probably feature characters from the Harry Potter universe but I might try my pen at other fandoms.





	1. January 1: The past can be a safe space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an Inspirobot quote which was also used for the title.

The feeling of cool water surrounding him instantly soothed his nerves, calming him down in a way that nothing else seemed to be able to do anymore. He had been trying to keep his composure up around Harry, trying not to show how much it was all getting to him. As soon as the boy left him though, Albus began to feel the sense of dreed that had long now been his constant companion. The only thing keeping it at bay for short periods of time was his memories. Not the ones he had been showing to Harry – older ones, ones of happier times spend with his family, his friends, and him - Gellert. 

The recollections of the stolen moments the two of them had shared were like a balm to his aches. The one he had chosen this night was a particular treasured one. It wasn’t great or grand in any way. It hadn’t been a significant moment in their relationship. It was simply a memory of two young men sitting on a picnic blanket in the basking summer sun – discussing everything and nothing while stealing sideways glances at each other when they thought the other wouldn’t notice. They had both noticed of course. They had simply been to shy to act upon then. So, they had continued talking and … A tapping sound and a distant voice growing ever stronger began to overpower the conversation of the young men in front of him and Albus felt as if the sun had suddenly disappeared. 

“Headmaster, you need to drink your potion,” the voice spoke. Recognizing Severus Snape’s voice, Albus hesitantly turned away from the smiling faces yet unburdened by the horrors they would soon experience and extracted himself from the pensieve. 

“Ah Severus. Is it already so late. I must have lost track of time,” he said as he stood up and smiled at the potions professor. His smiled was not returned but Severus bowed his head in a small greeting. 

“Yes,” Severus simply answered as he handed him the steaming goblet. Albus didn’t fail to notice the examining looks the younger man shot his withered hand. “Is it becoming worse, headmaster?”

“I am afraid so, Severus,” he took a mouthful of the warm liquid, the very liquid he knew was prolonging his life, “I am afraid so.”


	2. January 2: Everything you do is incredible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an Inspirobot quote which was also used for the title.

The salty air tussled his hair as he stepped outside Shell Cottage. The wind wasn’t exactly cold but seeing that Luna had once again forgotten her coat, Dean had known he would have to go out and give it to her. She was honestly one of the most forgettable people he had ever met – in some regards at least. He walked through the purple flowers of the heather breathing in their earthy smell. He could get used to living in a place like this, he thought, but he knew that he couldn’t stay for much longer. Some day soon they would all have to fight, and Dean knew that the outcome of that final fight would change everything. 

As he had suspected Luna was kneeling in front of Dobby’s grave. She seemed to be arranging an intricate pattern of sea shells in the sand that covered the body of one of the bravest people Dean had ever met. He opened his mouth to let her know that he was there, but before the words could escape his lips, Luna spoke.

“Hello Dean,” she said in her dreamy voice as she continued her pattern. 

“Uhm hi Luna,” he answered, “You, uh, forgot your coat.”

Luna gave a short laugh as she finished her task. She stood up without bothering to dust away the sand that covered her dress. Or Fleur’s dress he supposed. Dean handed her the coat trying not to look too much at the way the wind made the delicate lilac fabric cling to her slight figure. Luna put on her coat pulling her long blonde hair loose from it so it once again blew in the wind. 

“Thank you, Dean.” She said as she smiled up at him. 

“You’re welcome,” he answered returning her smile. Luna kept smiling at him without saying anything. The fact that she didn’t seem to mind silence was something he envied her. Silences always made him antsy, “Uhm that’s a nice decoration you’ve made.”

“Oh, it’s not a decoration actually,” she said, “It’s an ancient type of protection magic that mother used to use.” Luna took one of Dean’s hands and began pointing at the different parts of the constellation – heat spread from his hand to his entire body. “See this part here protects a place from those who would tarnish it, and this part here ensures that it stays peaceful.” She looked up at him with her piercing blue eyes were tears were gathering, “It’s the least I can do for Mr Dobby considering what he did for us.” Dean could only nod. 

He knew that many of their Hogwarts peers had never understood Luna, finding her and her actions strange and unexplainable, and while Dean didn’t always understand the things Luna did or why she did them either, he knew in his heart that everything she did was incredible – the time they had spent together first in the cellar of Malfoy Manor and then with Bill and Fleur at Shell Cottage had made him realize that. However, he had no idea how he was supposed to tell her that or if she even felt the same way about him. 

After a couple of minutes of silently staring at Dobby’s now protected grave site, Dean looked down and noticed that Luna was still holding his hand. Luna, who had been looking at him without his noticing, met his gaze when he looked up. “What is it?”

“We’re still holding hands.” He said because he didn’t know what else to say. 

“Yes. Do you want me to let go?” 

Luna’s calm face didn’t reveal anything about her state of mind but Dean decided to go for it, “No. I don’t want you to let go of me, Luna. Not for a long time.” He could feel his heart beating in his chest, and he was convinced that the girl holding his hand must be able to feel it as well. 

A smile spread across her heart-shaped face as she looked up at him. “Then I won’t,” she simply said as she rested her hand on his arm. She was so much shorter than him that she could not rest it against his shoulder, but Dean supposed that this would have to do for now. Because now he knew that these would not be the last moments the two of them shared.


	3. January 3: Analyze your wardrobe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an Inspirobot quote which was also used for the title.

“What about this one?” Pansy held up yet another dress in front of Draco’s scrutinizing eyes. This one was black and lazy. She had worn to Blaise’s birthday party last year and had turned quite a few heads. It really did wonders for her sparse curves if she did say so herself. 

“Oh, I didn’t know you were aiming for ‘dominatrix’,” he smirked, “You should have said so sooner, I’m sure mother has some of Bellatrix’ old garbs lying around somewhere.”

“Ha ha, Draco, very funny,” she snapped her fingers at Blaise, who was launching on a divan, clearly not paying attention to any part of her struggles to dress for her date. “What do you think?” He looked up lazily at the dress. He short Draco a short knowing look before returning his attention to the copy of Witch Weekly that was apparently more interesting in his view. 

“Honestly darling, deatheater chique is so last decade,” Draco sighed, “How about softening your look just a tat? We don’t have to live up to all of the Slytherin dungeon stereotypes at once you know” Pansy’s eyes were like daggers. Draco got up from her dark Chesterfield armchair and walked over to the pile of dresses mounted on her bed. “Take this one for example,” he said as he picked up a faux leather dress, “What kind of associations does this one give?”

Pansy snapped the dress from his hands and threw it on the floor. “Fine I get it. When you start overanalyzing my clothes like that perhaps they are a bit much.”

“Just a bit,” Blaise remarked without taking his eyes away from the article he was reading. Pansy hurled the dress at him, causing him to fall from the divan in his attempt to avoid it. 

While he laughed, Draco picked up a dress that had been hiding at the bottom of the pile and looked it over. “This one,” he said as he held it up in front of her. The dress, like many of the others, was black, but unlike the others it was made from the softest cotton. It had a high neck and at the edges it had an inlayed pattern that you couldn’t see from afar. “This one doesn’t say: I live in a dungeon and I like it rough.”

Pansy eyed it consideringly. It was a pretty dress and it was definitely one of the most comfortable ones she had in her wardrobe. She took it from him, holding it in front of her body as she looked at herself in the mirror, “But what if I do like it rough?”

“Then we don’t wanna hear about it,” Blaise deadpanned. 

Draco smacked his shoulder, “Off course we do. But I suspect that you don’t necessarily need your clothes to say that. You usually do a pretty good job at sharing that sort of thing verbally.” Pansy thought she heard Blaise muttering something about her sharing too much under his breath but decided to let it slide. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her somewhat hard facial features and sharply cut hair style were somewhat softened by the circling gold pattern of the dress’ edges. 

“Fine,” she proclaimed, “I’ll wear it.”

“Thank Merlin!” Blaise uttered, “Remind me never to tag along when you’re getting ready for a blind date ever again.”


	4. January 4: Damn it's early

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an awesome scented Evil Queen candle called Damn It's Early (described as smelling like coffee, hazulnut, and tears) that I was burning this morning.

Ron had obviously heard the sound of the alarm clock. How anyone, ever, could sleep from a cacophony like that was beyond him. The sounds coming from that infernal muggle device were loud enough to wake up a knocked-out mountain troll. And he had to listen to it every morning for five days a week. Every single day of the work week. Even though Ron had obviously woken up, he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed – with it being all so warm and cozy and all. He could hear the water running but not even the thought of joining his wife in the shower could stir his spirits enough to make him give up his sanctuary.

Ten minutes later, Ron was fast asleep again. Hermione looked down at her sleeping husband contemplating her course of action. Tried and tested ways of getting him out of bed ranged from resetting her childhood clock, placing it immediately next to his head, and scaring the living daylights out of him to getting him off. However, this morning she was feeling neither particular malignant nor frisky. So Hermione decided to aim for the middle road. 

Not too long after, a delicious smell started to spread throughout their flat. It was both heavy and uplifting, both sweet and bitter, both vanilla and hazelnut – it was Hermione’s special morning coffee. In the bedroom, Ron began to stir. Hermione walked through the flat with two steaming cups in her hands. She sat down on the edge of the bed holding one cup under her husband’s nose. Ron opened one eye slightly to look at the mug. 

“Did you make morning coffee?” He smiled still looking half-asleep with hooded lids, his voice sounding gruff and sleepy. 

“Yes, I did. Because you really do need to get up.” She put down her own cup and ran her fingers through his red hair. “You have that meeting today, remember?” Ron groaned into his pillow at the mention of the meeting. 

“It’s just so damn early, ‘Mione.”

“I know. I know,” she laughed at his whining, “But the faster you get up, the faster the day will go by, and the faster we will both get home to each other again. Also, if you don’t get up now, I will drink your coffee too and you and I both know that that’ll just make you cry.” Ron laughed and sat up before snatching the cup from her hand. He kissed on her on the cheek. 

“Thanks honey.” 

“You’re welcome. Just don’t think I’m gonna do this every morning.” Hermione answered as she got up from the bed. 

“Oh I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ron took a sip of coffee before he said with the biggest smirk on his face, “I seem to remember you have other interesting ways of waking me up.” Hermione rolled her eyes at the self-satisfied look on his freckled face – he was definitely getting the clock next time.


	5. January 5: Noping on out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is a continuation of the one from the 3rd of January and it was inspired by an episode of the podcast 51 First Dates.

Pansy took another swig of her wine. Could one even swig wine, she wondered. It felt like something you should be sipping while nodding and saying things like: Is that a hint of elderberry I detect? Oh well, she was defiantly swigging the wine and had been for a good half hour. 

She was on the blind date that her friend, possibly former friend, Millicent had set her up for her, and it really wasn’t going very well. After walking in to the Leaky Caldron to find Stan Shunpike of all people waiting for her, Pansy was seriously debating whether Millicent had her best interests at heart. Pansy didn’t really remember Stan from Hogwarts. He was about five or six older than them so there would only have been one or two years of overlap. Also, he didn’t seem like the smartest person in the world. For the past twenty minutes he had been telling her about his time as a Deatheater like she would find that impressing or something. She didn’t. And she had been tuning him out more and more when something he said finally caught her attention. 

“Yeah so since that’s all over, I’m considering starting my own group.” Stan took a sip of his beer with a look on his face that seemed to suggest immense pride. 

“Excuse me, what?”

“Yeah I want to start my own cult.” He smiled excitedly at her, “I told Millicent that I’m looking for people to …”

“Hold on. You told Millicent that you’re looking for people to start a cult with?” How could Millicent set her up with a lunatic like this? 

“No no,” he laughed, “It’s all still in the idea phase so I’m not really telling a lot of people yet. I am however looking for a type of consultant that can help me …”

“Stan, I’m gonna have to stop you. I’m sure you’re,” Pansy stopped searching for the right words – how did one describe an inspiring cult leader, “that you’re a very interesting person but I don’t really see the two of us happening.” She pointed between them which only resulted in Stan checking out her breast for what felt like the twentieth time. “Yeah, so I’m outta here.” Pansy was sure that she could hear the sound of Stan’s chair against the floor as he got up, presumably to get her to stay so she sped up. No way in hell was she gonna be his cult queen. Nope. Nope. Nope.


	6. January 6: Contract

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by a writing prompt from a Facebook writing group I'm in. Also it's posted a day late because I had to recover from the worst hangover I've ever had.

Ron stared at the piece of paper in front of him. The quill was still in his hand and he had yet to sign the lease placed before him. He knew it was time for him to move out of the Burrow, but he also knew it would be hard on his mum. Since Fred had died, he could feel her clinging to him harder than ever before and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to leave her even though it had been almost three years. The fact that he had continued to live at home had taken a toll on his and Hermione’s budding romance and they had eventually decided to just be friends. Ron didn’t blame his mum in any way (even if she had a tendency to show up in his room at the worst possible times), he loved her too damn much for that. But he really did need to get his own place. Deciding he picked up the quill, dipped the tip in ink, and signed the contract. There was a soft knock at the door.

“Yeah?”

Molly poked her head around the corner and smiled at her youngest son, “Do you have anything that need’s washing, dear?”

“Uhm, yeah, hang on,” Ron answered as he began rummaging around his room. “Actually, do you think that you could show me how to do it?” Ron could see the change in her face immediately. He hadn’t even told her, but somehow, she already knew. 

“Of course, my dear. Why don’t I show you all the good cleaning spells while you tell me all about it.” Even though she looked sad, Ron knew that she was going to be all right. Because they both knew that he would never truly stop needing her.


	7. January 7: Coddiwomple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by a post I saw on Facebook which contained a definition of this lovely verb.

Neville was sitting at the Gryffindor table finishing up his breakfast. Most of his housemates were already done and as always Harry, Ron, and Hermione seemed to be busy with something that he didn’t really dare ask about. Dean was attempting to explain some sort of football rule to Seamus, and by what Neville could tell this was definitely not his first attempt. Neville sighed as he ate his last piece of bacon. He guessed he should get started on his transfiguration essay anyway – that was bound to take a while. Without anyone really noticing he got up from the table and started to walk out of the Great Hall. 

Suddenly a light voice interrupted his morose thoughts, “Good morning Neville.” He turned around to see Luna Lovegood smiling at him. She had her hair in two buns one at either side of her head. On most people that sort of up-do might look crazy but somehow Luna made it work. She made the weirdest things work.

“Hi Luna. What are you up to today?”

“Oh I’m just going coddiwompling.” She said in a way that most definitely implied that she should know what she was on about. “Would you like to join me?”

Afraid to even ask what sort of strange activity it might entail, Neville shook his head. “I should probably start doing an essay for McGonagall. It’s due this Thursday.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. Maybe another time then. Have a lovely day, Neville.” She said before turning from him and walking away. Neville looked at her as she walked away with steps that almost looked like a dance. Transfiguration essays be damned. 

“Luna, wait up!” He jogged to catch up with her, “I think I’d like to come along anyway, if you don’t mind that is.” He could feel his cheek warming up.

“Of course I don’t mind, silly. I did ask you, you know?” Luna laughed and took his hand in hers as she steered them outside into the sunshine. She had asked him, he thought, and the thought made him happy. It was always nice to be noticed by others. Another thought intervened. 

“Uhm but what exactly does it mean to coddiwomple, though?” Neville asked not knowing if he should be nervous or not – or rather maybe how nervous he should be. 

“To coddiwomple means to travel purposefully toward an as-yet-unknown destination,” Luna answered in her dreamy voice, “So I suppose we’ll just have to see where our travelling takes us!” She laughed and Neville couldn’t help but join in. He guessed they really would just have to wait and see.


	8. January 8: Rule #3: Always question a scented candle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an Inspirobot quote (and I though it was funny since I actually did a drabble that was inspired by a scented candle!).

Even though Hermione had only been crashing on Fred and George’s couch for two days after unexpectedly being kicked out of her own flat, she had already learned two important rules about sharing a living space with the twins. Rule #1: Don’t eat anything that you haven’t cooked yourself – you won’t know what’s in it until it’s too late. Rule #2: Don’t drink anything that you haven’t bought and poured yourself – because again you won’t know what’s it in until it’s too late. The two lesson had been hard learned by first eating a piece of chocolate that had made her laugh hysterically for three hours straight on her first night and then by having a glass of wine on her second night that made her believe (and attempt to convince the twins) that she was actually French. Hermione had been angry with herself more so than with the twins – she ought to know better after all the years of knowing them.

After a hard day at the Ministry, Hermione had decided to treat herself to something nice, and as she walked down Diagon Alley on her way to Fred and George’s place, her eye was caught by s row of colorful, scented candles in a newly opened beauty store. Picking one up, she read that the candle would supposedly smell like whatever the person who lit it wanted it to smell like and that it would also give the person pleasant dreams. Not too shabby, Hermione thought to herself as she purchased the candle. She could use a nice dream about reading a book at the beach or something along those lines. 

The first thing Hermione did when she got back to the flat above the store was light the dark red candle. She sat it on the table and plopped down on the couch, she had been sleeping on for the last few days. She had placed some spells on it so it would feel bigger and softer than a normal couch so it really wasn’t too bad. As the sultry amber smell from the candle started to fill the living room, Hermione felt herself getting tired. I’ll just close my eyes for a minute, she thought, as she sank down into the cushions and into a deep sleep. 

\------------

Even in her dream she could smell the delicious scent from the candle, and somehow it seemed to have become even deeper, even more fragrant. It smelled like, like all sort of different potent potions ingredients mixed together in a wonderful blend. Kind of like how it smelled in the twin’s works space downstairs when she came to think of it. Suddenly Hermione realized that she was actually in the backroom of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. She also realized that Fred was mixing something in a big cauldron and that all of the intoxicating fumes seemed to emanate from this very cauldron. She watched him for a while as he stirred it with sure, strong movements. He had powerful arms she noticed. She began to notice many things about Fred’s body when he suddenly looked up at her. 

“Are you going to say something or just stand there watching me?” Fred said as she cocked an eyebrow at her. 

“I was just …” She tried to explain. But the words stuck in her throat as Fred abandoned the cauldron and started walking towards her with wide strides. 

“You don’t need to talk, Hermione,” he said as he placed his big hands on either side of her face, “Just look at me with those beautiful eyes of yours.” And so she did, right up until the moment when Fred closed his eyes and slowly started to lean his lips down towards her to …

\------------

“Hermione?” a voice far away interrupted her dream and kept insisting she wake up. She opened her eyes and found Fred looking down at her with a sort of bemused look on his freckled face. “Are you all right? You almost looked like you were passed out or something?” Or something she thought trying not to think about what dream-Fred had been about to do to her. What in the world was she doing thinking about him like that in the first place? She’d never even thought about him like that. Much. Hermione could feel herself blushing and avoided Fred’s eyes. Her gaze fell to the table were the candle was still burning. 

“Did you do something to my candle?” She sat up looking accusingly at Fred. 

“What? Which candle?”

“That candle,” she said pointing, “Did you do something to it? I swear Fred if you did something to that candle as well I’ll …”

“I didn’t do anything to your candle, all right?” He said holding up his hands, “I just came in, heard you sort of moaning and thought I’d check on you, okay?”   
“Okay,” she said, still not looking at him. 

“Okay,” he ran a hand through his hair not quite sure why she was reacting so strangely, “Why don’t I go make some dinner for us, and before you say anything, I promise to do anything funny to it.” Before she could say anything to protest, Fred had left the living room. Hermione looked down at the treacherous candle on the table and quickly blew it out. She couldn’t trust anything these days. Least of all herself apparently.   
 


	9. January 9: Simply being hairy doesn’t mean that you’re pure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by another Inspirobot quote which made me think of Hagrid instantly.

It was 19 years (and cakes) later but Rubeus Hagrid still hadn’t gotten the hang of making icing. It always ended up being too runny – like it had been when Harry turned 20 when the greeting had practically slid of the cake before Hagrid had even arrived at Harry’s party – or too stiff – like it had been five years later when Harry had turned 25 and the letters had practically been illegible because Hagrid had struggled so much when piping them. This year, however, he had been determined to get it right and he had, to the dismay of the rest of the Hogwarts’ staff, started practicing months in advance. Hagrid had been bringing them more or less successful cakes every week since April and they had dutifully tied each and every one of them. How could they say no when they knew how much making a cake for Harry’s 30th birthday meant to Hagrid?

Minerva looked at today’s cake. The black icing on the deep green cake looked all right – reminded her of Harry’s coloring, which she supposed was why Rubeus had chosen these particular ones. She took a bite and nearly choked. It tasted like … like … she didn’t even know what it tasted like – she hadn’t ever tried anything that spicy in her life. “What did you put in it, Rubeus?” She sputtered, reaching for her goblet of pumpkin juice. She gulped the liquid down relieving the pain in her aching throat somewhat.

“Jus’ a wee bit o’ chili,” he said wringing his enormous hands, “Thought I would spice it up a bit.” He paused and looked at the way she was downing her juice, “It’s too much, innit’?” Minerva nodded struggling to speak. 

She croaked: “But the colors and icing look’s pretty. You should stick with those and go back to the old recipe, I think.”

Hagrid nodded eagerly, “Right you are. I better stop professor Slughorn before he eats a piece!”

“Horace, Rubeus, his name is Horace. He has been your colleague for so many years, you really must remember to call him and the rest of staff by their first names when in an informal setting.” Hagrid nodded again but didn’t speak as he began sprinting across the room to where Horace was about to dig into today’s cake sample. Minerva shook her head. Rubeus Hagrid might be the biggest, most hairy man she had ever met in her life, but he was also the purest.


	10. January 10: Maybe football isn't too bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by the fact that the 2019 World Men's Handball Championship started today and I was feeling sporty(ish - handball is literally the only sport I watch)

“Nooooo!” The sound of the scream sent chock waves through Seamus’ body. He had only just unlocked the front door to the flat but without second thought he flew through hall way into the living room. A million different horrifying images went through his head as he sprinted, hoping to Merlin that everything was all right. 

“What the hell, Dean!” He exclaimed angrily when he reached the living room. On the couch was Dean Thomas. Covered in butterbeer. Yelling at the tellovision. Where muggles where playing football. Again. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t yell at that thing anymore. You know it freaks me out!” He angrily dried the beads of sweat from his brow. 

“Sorry, Seamus. But Arsenal just scored on a penalty that they shouldn’t even have gotten. Rotten ref,” Dean stared angrily at the screen. It seemed like he hadn’t even noticed that he had spilled his butterbeer. 

“Tergeo,” Seamus muttered, making the liquid disappear from Dean’s West Ham shirt. He plopped down on the couch next to him. He could still feel his own pulse but he took a few steading breaths as he looked at the muggles running around in the little box. “I still don’t really get this football hype to be honest.”

“I know you don’t,” Dean said as he looked away from the screen to look at Seamus, “So the fact that you watch it with me anyway means the world to me.” He kissed his boyfriend softly on the lips but Seamus could tell he was keeping one eye open to watch his favorite team take on Arsenal was it? 

“Just watch your game,” he laughed and slapped Dean on the shoulder. He hoped West Ham would in the game because when Dean’s team won, well, let’s just say that maybe football wasn’t so bad after all.


	11. January 11: Ginny Weasley - Keeping it real since 1981

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is the direct result of the combination of watching handball and researching intersectionality (feminist theory) all day.

“Ginny, Ginny, over here!” Ginny could hear an over-exited voice screaming her name as she and the rest of the team were walking off the pitch after their first victory of the season. Drying the sweat from her eyes, she realized who was calling her. Her team mate Nelly apparently saw who it was at the same time. 

“Good luck, Gin,” Nelly snorted as she walked briskly towards the locker rooms leaving Ginny to fend for herself. Ginny couldn’t really blame her though. 

“Marvelous game. Simply marvelous. Just amazing how fast you girls can fly on those broomsticks, isn’t it, Ginny?” Rita Skeeter said. The fakest, toothiest smile plastered on her pale face. 

“Yeah, we girls really fly well, don’t we?” Ginny’s annoyance at Rita’s address either didn’t register with her, or she simply didn’t care enough to comment. Ginny suspected the latter. Instead Rita readied her pen for attack. “So … they convince you to do sports, did they?” Ginny said with a grin on her face before Rita could start bombarding her with questions. 

“Something like that,” Rita said smoothly not commenting on the fact that the backlash against her following the release of her McGonagall biography had been so immense that she had apparently been moved from news to sports. Not letting the questions throw her off to much, Rita continued, “I saw that your boyfriend was watching you play today. Say, does it affect in your gameplay in any way when the famous Harry Potter watches you play?”

“Uhm no?” Ginny looked at Rita blankly, “Because to me, he’s just Harry. My boyfriend of five years. So no, I wouldn’t say that it affects my gameplay. The rain, however, was really …”

“Right, right. But couldn’t one suspect that you would try even harder to win when you that your man is watching his girl?” Rita said with a big smile on her face that she probably thought was endearing. Ginny took a deep breath. 

“First of all, please stop calling me a girl. I’m not a girl. I’m a woman, please address me as such if you feel a need to gender and age me at all,” she paused briefly, “Second of all, I’m not Harry’s. I’m my own person and I happen to be a professional athlete. So, if you don’t actually have any questions that are related to my position as chaser for the Hollyhead Harpies, I think that I’ll be joining my team.” Ginny waited about 3 seconds looking at the stunned Rita. “That’s what I thought. Excuse me.” Ginny pushed past her towards the locker rooms. She would be interested to see how Rita was going to spin this interview in tomorrows Prophet.


	12. January 12: Sometimes your brain is not your friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an Inspirobot quote and the fact that I've been feeling anxious about my thesis this week which was something I thought Hermione could maybe relate to.

_You can do this. You’ve done it before. It’s just an exam. You can do it._

_But what if I don’t do well this time? What if I’ve overestimated my own abilities? What if everyone is disappointed in me?_

 

Hermione tried taking a deep breath but it felt like something was lodged in her throat, refusing to let any air pass. Something heavy weighted her down, pushing on her chest. It felt like the pressure was coming both from outside and inside of her, and it was squashing her.

 

_It’s all in your head, it’s in your head._ She tried telling herself.

 

Hermione tried swallowing but the lump wouldn’t subside and the simple action became a struggle. It was as if something, or someone, was sitting on her chest making the few breaths she managed come out all ragged.

 

_You’re going to be fine. Everything is all right. Just breathe._

 

Hermione attempted to will her body to relax but it felt as if it had taken on a life on its own. Like she was no longer in control of it, like it was receiving its impulses to act from somewhere else. Like her own body had somehow betrayed her.

 

Hermione’s thoughts about calmness did not work. Her chest continued to feel tight and her throat continued to feel closed up. she opened her eyes and looked down at the blank parchment in front of her. Hermione lifted her quill, dipping it in the jet-black ink. She forced herself to breathe steadily. “I can do this,” she muttered to herself. _I can do this_. _Just one word at a time._ _One thought at a time_


	13. January 13: Howler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by a writing prompt from a Facebook group.

Ron was sitting at his desk filling out reports about the latest mission he and harry had been on. While chasing and apprehending dark witches and wizards was as thrilling as he could ever have imagined, filling out the reports afterward, however, was almost as tedious as writing an essay for Professor Binns had been. 

Ron sighed and looked around the office where other wizards and witches of the auror department were also taking care of overdue paper work, when suddenly he saw a familiar small owl flying towards him. Pigwideon landed in front of him with a big, red envelope. Oh shit, he thought, did he have time to snatch it up and bolt from the room before it began delivering its message?

The resounding answer was no.

“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!” The howler shouted in Hermione’s angriest voice, “HOW DARE YOU TELL YOUR MOTHER THAT I DON’T WANT CHILDREN? I WAS UNDER THE DISTINCT IMPRESSION THAT WE DISCUSSED HOW NEITHER OF US FEEL READY TO HAVE CHILDREN YET. I WAS ALSO UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT WE DO NOT DISCUSS THAT SORT OF THING WITH YOUR MOTHER. EVER. I’M SO ANGRY WITH YOU RONALD. IF YOU DON’T COME HOME RIGHT THIS INSTANT AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF, I ASSURE YOU THAT YOU AND I WILL NEVER HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT CHILDREN EVER AGAIN. BECAUSE WE WILL NOT BE SLEEPING TOGETHER ANY MORE!” Upon Hermione’s last words the envelope erupted into flames, leaving only a pile of ashes on Ronald’s desk. 

“Soo,” Harry walked towards Ron with a cup of coffee in his hands and a grin on his face that he didn’t even try to hide. “I'm guessing you'll go home and ill finish the report?” Ron just nodded as he looked down at the ashes. How was he going to get out of this one?


	14. January 13: Maybe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble wasn't inspired by anything particular other than thinking about what Trelawney did after the Battle of Hogwarts. I think I'll do some more drabbles about what she gets up to.

Sybill Trelawney looked down at the flowered tea cup in her hands. They were trembling slightly, making the dark liquid ripple at the surface. For the first time in many years, her cup now always contained tea rather than cooking sherry. She hadn’t had a drink since that night. Since the Battle of Hogwarts. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Sweet Lavender’s last night on earth. Maybe if she hadn’t drunk to calm her nerves that night, she would have been able to save Lavender. Perhaps she would have been able to get to her just a few moments sooner. Maybe then she would have dropped the crystal ball onto that infernal beast of a werewolf seconds earlier, saving Lavender from her terrible end. Maybe… Maybe… The maybes had put a stop to her drinking, and she had vowed to do better, to be more present, to make more connections with students like the one she had shared with Lavender because life was too short to hide away in her tower and drown her sorrows in sherry. Sybill had vowed to start living again since Lavender couldn’t.


	15. January 15: Servant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an Inspirobot quote that I used for one of Snape's lines.

Peter was running through the corridor, heaving. His chest felt like it was going to explode. Or implode. He didn't really understand the difference to be honest. Not for the first time, he wished he was fit like James and Sirius were – they never had trouble sprinting, not like he did anyway. James... His legs ached but he had to keep running for James. When his friend had noticed that he had forgotten to bring his lucky charm, an earring that Lilly had “lost” during their fourth year at Hogwarts, to the game, Peter had volunteered to fetch it for him. He hadn’t considered just how far Gryffindor Tower was from the quidditch pitch or how soon the match against Slytherin would begin. Just as he felt his legs begin to turn to jelly, he encountered another problem. A more pressing problem. Severus Snape. Right in front of him. Peter didn’t have time to slow his pace and knocked right into James and Sirius’ enemy number one. 

“Get off me you imbecile!” Snape rasped. He batted at Peter, who had landed on top of him, with a heavy book. “Get off!” Peter got up as fast as his shivering legs would allow him but they were about as sturdy as slugs. He muttered an apology. Even though James and Sirius hated Snape, Peter didn’t really have anything personal against him – he usually just followed the other’s lead when it came to Snape ... amongst other things. As Snape stood up, he towered over him. Peter gulped. He felt like he could look right up Snape’s large nose. 

“I’m sorry, I was just going to get…”

“Something for Potter or Black I suspect,” Snape interrupted. Before Peter could reply, he continued: “You know, behaving like a servant doesn’t make you a good friend, Pettigrew. It doesn’t make you their friend at all. It makes you just that – their servant,” he spoke slowly, annunciating every syllable and each one of them was like a punch to Peter’s gut. 

“As if you would know what a friend looks like,” Peter spat. He ran past Snape up the stairs before the other boy would notice the tears that were gathering in his eyes.


	16. January 16: Asking the important questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by a prompt from the writing group I'm in on Facebook.

“’Mione?” Ron called, popping his head out of the children’s room. 

“Yes?” She answered, not looking up from her worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. 

“This Santa fellow. He’s just a muggle invention, right?”

Hermione looked up from the pages that had yellowed over the years. 

“What?”, she eyed Ron curiously, “Why?”

“Well I was reading this to Rose and Hugo”, he answered gesturing to a copy of The Night Before Christmas, “And we were just wondering if we need to go help those house elves, he apparently has working on presents all year long without any sort of work regulations.”

Hermione couldn’t stop herself from laughing as she got up from the couch and went to where her husband was standing in the doorway. 

“It’s just a silly old story. But I like the way you’re thinking,” she said as looked at Ron and smiled. 

“Well, you’ve trained me well,” he laughed.

“I certainly have,” she said and kissed him.


	17. January 17: Ice Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by the fact that it snowed in Aarhus today and that snow always makes me think of Edward Scissorhands, which has an awesome soundtrack.

“Luuuna,” Neville yelled from the kitchen, “Your cocoa is ready.” 

He picked up the two steaming mugs as the magicked pot flew from the stove to the sink where it began to clean itself off. Neville’s household skills had greatly improved since moving in with Luna, who did not pay much attention to the state of her surroundings. There was always something much more interesting or fascinating that drew her attention. Neville walked into the living room of their little Hogsmeade house. Plants from around the world, astrological maps, colorful cushions and blankets, and burning candles filled the small space. But there was no Luna. 

“Luna!” Neville called again as he set down the mugs. Maybe she had gone upstairs. 

A white glimpse caught his attention, and he walked over to the window. It was snowing. Big cotton-like flakes were falling from the sky ever so slowly. They whirled around in beautiful patterns, seeming to be dancing with each other. And there in the middle of it all was Luna. Her long, blonde hair and long, blue dress were flowing around her as she twirled in the snow. Her arms were outstretched towards the sky as she danced. She seemed almost in time with the falling snow, like both she and it were moving to some secret melody that Neville could not hear. The smile on Luna’s face when she spotted him in the window was almost enough to melt Neville’s heart.


	18. January 18: Hunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble wasn't inspired by anything particular other than me thinking about how cute Flitwick is.

Filius Flitwick dried the sweat from his brow with one of his sleeves. He dearly regretted having worn his dark robes out into the warm August sun that shone onto the Hogwarts’ grounds relentlessly. One of the things that he envied muggles the most were their summer clothes – a pair of shorts and a t-shirt would have been much more appropriate for this type of weather than wizard’s robes were. 

He should probably have waited until after sundown to hunt for toads for the Frog Choir, but he had rationed that they would be more tired, and slower, in the midday heat, making them easier for him to catch. Now unfortunately so was he. Maybe he could have asked Hagrid to get the toads for him but he liked picking them out based on their croak himself. He had been the choir conducter for many years now and knew a good croak from a mediocre one. Filius pushed his glasses back up his nose from where they had been sliding down. He looked at the big cage next to him. It was now almost full of toads. Just one more and he would have about enough to train for the choir. The students would return to Hogwarts in a few weeks and he really needed to get started on the toads’ training if they were going to be ready for choir practice. 

An especially high and melodious croak from the banks of the Black Lake drew Filius’ attention. A big, brown toad covered in wart-like bumps was croaking like its life depended on it and it almost seemed like it was looking at him, croaking to him. There was something familiar about the toad, Filius thought, before dismissing it. How could he know a toad of the Black Lake? And why would it be trying to communicate with him? Filius shook his head, he had definitely been out in the sun for too long. Moving his wand he quickly froze the toad and levitated into the amphibian cage, which he quickly shut. He let out a relieved sigh. Finally done. 

As Filius started walking back towards the castle, the cage flying next to him, he started to think about the songs the Frog Choir whould be singing this term. The number of students signing up had been dwindling the last couple of years - but this year he had a strategy. To get more muggleborn students to sign up, he had decided they would also be performing songs by muggle artists. He and Charity had gone to a music store in muggle London and picked up sheet music. Filius had picked one called “Waiting for a Star to Fall” for no other reason than the fact that the title contained the word “star,” and the fact that he had harbored a crush on a certain Astrology Professor for more than a decade now and needed to find a way to let her know. Maybe this would finally be his chance?


	19. January 20: Seek not a Boyfriend, Except the Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an Inspirobot quote, which was also used for the title.

The cold winter wind blew long strands of black hair around his face, but he didn't notice. Didn't notice how it made the dead leaves swirl around. Didn't notice the way the light of the waxing moon across the London street. He took another drag of his cigarette letting the smoke fill him. Fill the emptiness. The door shut behind him.

"I'm sorry," Remus spoke softly. He didn't turn. "I didn't want it to end like this. You know that."

Sirius barked out a humorless laughter, but he still didn't turn around to face his boyfriend. Or ex-boyfriend, he supposed.

"We should have known it wouldn't work. That I wouldn't..." Remus voice cracked, "I just don't want to ever hurt you."

"Too late," Sirius said as he flicked the bud of his cigarette into the street where the leaves still danced to a tune only they could hear. "I hope you find what it is you're looking for," he said looking briefly at the person he loved most in this world. He tore his eyes away before he gazed too long upon those eyes, those lips... He walked past him fighting all of his instincts that told him to grab Remus, hold him in his arms, and never let him go. 

Remus heard the front door shutting behind him - the sound of another chapter ending. He looked up at the pale moon looming in the sky above him. "I think I already did, Sirius."


	20. January 20: Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by a writing prompt from my Facebook writing group.

“Come on, Seamus,” Ron goaded as he held out the box of Every Flavor Beans towards his housemate of six years. “It’s your turn.”

“No, it’s not. It’s Harry’s turn,” Seamus protested. Ron, Dean, and Neville all shook their heads. 

“It is not,” Harry, who still looked like someone who might vomit, said. “I got that earwax one.” He shuttered. 

“Fine,” Seamus sighed. “Please be cherry, please be cherry,” he muttered as he raised the bright red bean towards his lips. He chewed a couple of times not really tasting anything particular. But then it hit him. The unmistakable taste of chili. “Merlin’s balls!” He shouted. Seamus could feel his heartbeat in his head and the sweat that started spurting from his forehead. “I’m going to die! Help me! Someone do something!” The other boys all looked at each other. “Please just make me think of something else!” Seamus yelled as he shook Dean’s shoulder violently. Suddenly Dean turned and kissed Seamus square on the mouth. Seamus, who had stopped yelling, looked at his best friends in surprise. 

“Oi if I had known that all it would take for one of you to make a move was a box of bloody beans, I would’ve gotten you guys one in fourth year!” Ron whooped. Seamus was still staring at Dean, who looked equally surprised. 

“Damn that is hot!” Dean suddenly exclaimed touching his lips. Harry and Ron both started laughed. “I meant the chili bean, you tossers,” Dean said blushing slightly. 

“Whatever you say mate. We support you no matter what team you play for,” Harry said as Dean and Seamus smiled nervously at each other.


	21. January 21: Rosé Cheeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble inspired by an EvilQueen scented candle - this one is, as you might have guessed, called Rosé Cheeks, and it has the tag line "a rosy winter glow... oh, wait that's just the wine." I thought it was perfect for these two wine moms.

"We should get the boys to watch the kids more often," Ginny said as she sipped some more of her chilled rosé. She and Hermione had been trying to set up one of their rosé night since summer but hadn’t succeeded until December. Stubborn as she was though, Ginny had insisted they still do it outside. So here they were, out on the patio, covered in piles of blankets enchanted with warming charms. 

"Can we really refer to them as boys anymore? " Hermione laughed as she looked over at her friend who was lounging in the other beach chair. "They are almost 40 after all." 

"You know what? When those two learn how to do laundry without making everything ending up the wrong color or manage to do charm the dishes without breaking at least one - then I'll refer to them as men," Ginny retorted and held out her glass. 

Laughing Hermione clinked her glass against Ginny's. "We really should do this more often, Gin." 

"Definitely," Ginny agreed as she looked up at the starry night sky, feeling the cold air on her warm rosé cheeks.


	22. January 22: Curriculum Conundrums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an episode of one of my favorite podcasts, Spirits, that dealt with the subject of divinaton. It is also a continuation of the drabble from the 14th of January.

Since Sybille Trelawney had stopped drinking, she had started thinking about her work a lot more. She knew she wanted more people to choose divination as one of their electives. More student would bring more chances to connect with people over the wonders of divination, something she desperately craved. Also, she wanted to show the newly reinstated headmistress that divination was a valid choice. 

However, Sybille was unsure of how to get more students to try divination – after all, it was not for everyone. She couldn’t understand why though, there were so many fascinating types of divination. She got out a piece of parchment and started to write down all of her ideas in a flurry of motions. She looked down at her list and thought that while so many of these were immensely fascinating, not all seemed suitable for classroom instruction though. 

While, she already taught on form of gastromancy, crystal ball gazing, she didn’t think she could convince students that the other form, the using of stomach sounds to represent the voice of the dead, was a thrilling prospect. It could produce very interesting results though. The same could be said of chroniomancy but when she had tried to teach that some years ago, it had left half of the class crying because of the onions. She also didn’t think that rumpology or moleomancy, with their focus on buttons and birth marks respectively, would be appropriate in classes of teenagers. Sybille had also considered ceromancy, with its lit candles and wax dripping, but was unsure of the safety hazards. That was what she told herself at least, but it might also have something to do with the fact that she had once read a book about other uses for hot wax that made her cheeks redden whenever she looked at a lit candle for too long. 

In the end, Sybille settled on including gelotoscapy, literomancy, nephomancy, and lithomancy into her new curriculum as attempting to connect with the divine and foresee the future through laughter, writing, clouds, as well as through gems and stones seemed both suitable and diverse enough to make divination a more popular choice in the coming school year. She hoped.


	23. January 23: M

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by the fact that I wore the Weasley jumper that my mum gave me this chrstimas today.

It had been many years since Hermione Granger had knitted anything and the knitting needles certainly weren’t acting like she wanted them to. Downstairs she could hear all of the Weasley’s bustling about preparing everything for the big Christmas party, but she still wasn’t ready yet. She was so close though. But her hands were also so sweaty. The knitting needles kept sliding out of her hands but she was so flustered that she couldn’t properly remember the charm to make them knit on their own. Fearing she would ruin all of her hard work if she tried casting it anyway, she kept going – muggle style. 

An hour and three interruptions from Ron later, Hermione finally finished. She wrapped up the gift hastily and hurried downstairs where the family were already gathering around the tree, getting ready to open presents. Ron gave her two thumbs up as she slid it under the beautifully decorated tree. Hermione rolled her eyes at him – it was a wonder he had managed to keep the content a secret. 

After it seemed like almost everyone had opened their presents, Arthur finally found the one from Hermione. “This one’s for you, Mollywobbles!” He said cheerily as he handed it to her. Molly swatted his arm. She always turned slightly red when he used her nickname in front of others and so did Ron. Molly started tearing the paper and soon held Hermione’s gift up in front of herself. It was a beautiful, magenta jumper with a large golden M on the front. Molly looked at it with an unreadable expression on her face. 

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit wonky,” Hermione said nervously, “I forgot the charm you taught me, so I had to do it by hand, but I just thought that since you’re always knitting jumpers for everyone else you should …” Before she could finish her sentence, Molly had crossed the distance between them and closed her arms around her in the tightest hug Hermione had ever received. 

“It’s perfect, sweetheart,” she mumbled into Hermione’s curls. She sounded like she might cry, and Hermione tightened her own arms around Molly.


	24. January 24: Waiting for a Star to Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is a continuation of the one from the 18th of January and is inspired by my love of Boy Meets Girl's 1988 song "Waiting for a Star to Fall".

Filius Flitwick had been a wreck all day. He couldn’t recall the last time he had been this nervous before a concert. He didn’t think he had ever actually been this worried. In one of his classes that afternoon, he had even managed to hit one of the first-year students in the eye with a feather when demonstrating the levitation spell. As the day had worn on, his nerves had gotten progressively worse, and he hadn’t even been brave enough to go down to dinner, having instead asked one of the house elves to bring supper to his quarters. 

Filius was regretting sending Aurora that enchanted note more and more by the minute. Why did he have to invite her specifically to the concert? She would probably have come down to hear it anyway. And why did he have to write that one of the songs had made him think of her when he first read it? Maybe she would have figured it out on her own. He cursed his Gryffindor moment under his breath. It was too late now though. All the students and toads of the Frog Choir were already warming up their voices, and he could hear the audience finding their seats in the Great Hall were rows and rows of chairs had replaced the house tables. They were scraping against the floor. Filius took a deep breath. This schoolyear he had vowed two things – to make the Frog Choir more popular and to tell the beautiful Astronomy professor that he had feelings for her – and he would be damned if he didn’t at least accomplish one of the two.

Once the choir began singing – the deep croaking tones of the toads mingling beautifully with the melodic voices of the highly talented students he had convinced to join – Filius felt less and less nervous. This felt right. The old wizard classics sounded lovely this way, and although he, as the conductor, had his back to the audience, he thought he could almost feel the positive energy emanating from them. He had decided that the last song of the concert would the important one. The one for Aurora. And as the choir sang and an enchanted saxophone played alongside them, Filius wished he could turn around to look at her. To see her reaction to the words he had chosen. For her. 

♫ Waiting (however long)  
I don't like waiting (I'll wait for you)  
It's so hard waiting (Don't be too long)  
Seems like waiting  
Makes me love you even more

Waiting for a star to fall  
And carry your heart into my arms  
That's where you belong  
In my arms  
Baby, yeah ♫

When the song ended, a deafening applause broke out. Filius turned around, a huge smile on his face. He and the students bowed as the Hogwarts students and staff cheered. He couldn’t remember ever getting that kind of response after a concert. The idea of including muggle music really had worked! He looked out at the crowd, searching for Aurora. She looked stunning with her dark blue robes against her ebony skin and though her black hair was in its usual knot on top of her head, he didn’t think it had ever looked more elegant. She wasn’t looking at him however. She was getting up from her chair and making to leave the Great Hall. Filius wanted to go after her – tell her that he was sorry, that it had been too much with the song, that he hadn’t meant to overwhelm her, that he hadn’t wanted to scare her off – but he couldn’t leave his place with the choir. His choir. Charity, who had noticed him looking after Aurora as she left the hall, gave him a small smile, but Filius had a hard time returning it.


	25. January 25: A Forest Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by a writing prompt (Forest) posted to the Facebook writing group I'm in before I joined it.

Whatcha have there, Neville?" Seamus said as he looked up from the chess board in front of him. He was playing Dean. But as always he was loosing. So, he might as well divert attention from the game.

"Uhm it's a note from Luna," Neville said. A slight blush crept into his cheeks.

"That's nice, Neville." Dean said, "Also check mate, Dean." 

Seamus ignored Dean's comment. "What does she write then?" 

"That she wants me to meet her in the forest tomorrow,” Neville looked like he would rather have met her anywhere else. Except maybe Filch’ office. 

"Uuh the forrest,” Seamus said, “Nice!” He held up his hand expectantly. Neville gave him a hesitant high five. Ever since Dean had taught them about those Seamus had been seeking out chances to hand them out so to speak. Dean rolled his eyes. 

"Like you would know anything about having dates in the forest, Seamus." When his best friend opened his mouth to protest that he did too know about forest dates, Dean got up from his chair. "Wanna go down and grab some lunch?" Seamus shrugged and got up too. Lunch didn’t sound bad at all. He made for the portrait hole. 

"Uhm Dean?” Neville said as he looked up from the note he had been studying. “If a girl writes that you should bring meat, does that mean, uhm, you know, that she wants me to, uhm, you know bring my meat, uhm. Or that she wants you to bring actual meat?" He looked so unsure of himself that Dean had to stop himself from laughing.

"I don't know about girls in general, but in the case of Luna Lovegood, I would assume you should make a trip down to the kitchens and get some meat," he put his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Better not to assume anything in any case, ey?"

"Yes definitely. No assumptions," Neville echoed as they walked after Seamus.


	26. January 26: Wise Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by a wise, old woman that I met today when I was out walking (and no I did not kick a stone at her but she did remind me that your outlook on life matters a great deal).

Ron was walking down the London street. It was white around him, and it was still snowing. It should have been a beautiful sight; the street lined with its old houses covered in a sheet of winter. But Ron couldn’t enjoy bring himself to enjoy it. Wouldn’t. They had fought again, he and Hermione. Even though it had been mere minutes since he had stormed out of their flat, the reasons for their argument were already fading. Maybe it had been about him working too much, her nagging him about it, or another one of their argumentative evergreens. Ron kicked a stone. 

“Oh!” The surprised yelp made Ron look up. There was an elderly woman balancing a stack of packages in front of him, and he had nearly hit her with the stone. 

“Merlin! I’m so sorry!” He said as he rushed forward just in time to catch the boxes that slid from her grip. The woman gave a nervous laughter. 

“At least you have good reflexes,” she said in a voice that was as crisp as the winter air. 

“Yeah,” Ron muttered, “I’m really sorry though.” He looked down at her over the boxes. She was a very short woman. She had probably only been around Hermione’s height when she was younger. Her face was lined with signs of age but her eyes twinkled. 

“That’s all right.” She laughed again, this time the tinge of nervousness was gone. “You looked like you were caught up in unpleasant thoughts.”

“Something like that,” he muttered. The old woman stretched out her arms to take back her packages but Ron held on to them. “Can I carry these for you? That’s the least I can do after almost kicking that rock at you.”

“I suppose your arms are a lot younger than mine anyway,” she began to walk away expecting him to follow, “My house is just down the end of this street.” For an elderly person she walked quite fast and Ron had to run a few paces to catch up to her. 

“Have you lived here long?” He asked.   
“Oh yes. I’ve lived here for 59 years this February. Me and my husband bought our first house here when we were newlyweds. We were just 19 years old,” she said smilingly. She looked as if the memories of the two of them moving in were as fresh as ever. 

“Blimey that’s a long time. Don’t you ever… you know… get tired of each other?” The woman laughed. 

“Of course, we did. But then we would remind each other of all the things that we weren’t tired of. All the things that we could appreciate even when we were cross with each other over something else.” Ron noticed her use of the past tense and was trying to figure out whether he should comment on it or not, when she continued. “He died last year, my Herbert.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ron said looking down at the packages. 

“Don’t be sorry, my dear. Herbert wouldn’t want us to be sorry. He would want us to think about all the things around us that brings us joy instead. There is so much to be happy about, and we should always strive to remember that, even when all the rest is trying to weigh us down.” The woman stopped in front of one of the old, grey brick houses that Ron assumed must be hers. She held out her arms and he placed the boxes gently into them. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

She laughed, “I should be the one saying thank you, you’re then one that has been carrying these for me after all.”

“Well, you reminded me of something that I’d forgotten,” Ron said. 

“In that case you’re welcome.” She smiled up at him, “Now go make the thing that’s weighing you down right, why don’t you?” Ron smiled back at her before he turned around and ran back towards his and Hermione’s flat. He was already listing all the things about her and about their life together that made him happy.


	27. January 27: Camping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired from a new prompt from the Facebook writing group. Hopefully tomorrows prompt will be inspired by "winning" because Denmark has made it to the final of the 2019 World Men's Handball Championship and will be playing Norway later today!

“Merlin’s balls! I don’t ever think I’ve been this cold or this wet before and that includes when we watched Gryffindor play in a thunderstorm that one time!” Seamus was shaking when he sat down next to Dean inside of their old Muggle tent. He cast a warming charm on himself, drying off his soaked clothes. 

“Hey we decided no magic!” Dean exclaimed. 

“No, you decided no magic,” Seamus said. He sighed in relief as he began to feel the warmth of the charm spread across his aching body. “I decided that I’m not going to catch something as unsexy as Muggle pneumonia just because you’re being stubborn.”

“I’m not being stubborn. I’m reclaiming camping.” 

“You’re reclaiming it?” Seamus looked confused. He hadn’t exactly been clear on why they were even out here in this cold and miserable forest. But when your boyfriend told you that you were going camping with the look Dean had had in his eyes – you were definitely going camping. Even if the weather was most certainly more suited to lying on a carpet in front of a fireplace as you were being fed grapes. 

“Yes, I’m reclaiming it. I used to love going camping, but being on the run from the Snatchers last year sort of ruined it for me, you know,” Dean said. 

“I have a really hard time seeing how anyone could love doing this without using magic,” Seamus remarked as he looked around the tent. It was cramped, sort of smelled, and he was almost certain that there was a hole in one side through which the rain that was pouring down outside would almost certainly be joining them. 

“I used to go camping with my stepdad. He and I would drive to this lake a couple of hours outside of London. We’d set up our tent, go fishing, that sort of thing. It would just be me and him for a couple of days. My siblings used to beg him to come along too, but he always told them that camping was our thing.” He paused. “I loved him for that,” Dean’s voice grew thicker as he spoke, and Seamus could tell that he was holding back tears. He put his arm around his shoulder and placed his forehead against his boyfriend. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,” he whispered. 

“How could you?” Dean answered, “I’ve been having such a hard time talking about him since… since he passed.” He was crying now and Seamus had to keep from starting too. Whatever Dean was feeling had a tendency to transfer to him as easily as a Quaffle passed between Chasers. 

“I know,” he squeezed Dean’s shoulder. “How about tomorrow you teach me how to fish and you can tell me all about what the two of you used to do together?” 

“But what if it’s still raining?” 

“Then we’ll get wet.” Seamus shrugged. 

“But you hate getting wet,” Dean said as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. 

“Yes, but I love you more.” Seamus looked in to Dean’s brown eyes that were worth drowning for. “Besides we’re reclaiming camping. And we’re not gonna let a little rain stop us.” He kissed his boyfriend, a sweet, short peck on the lips, before he turned his head upwards and yelled, “Do you hear that rain, we’re reclaiming camping!”


	28. January 28: Champions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by the fact that Denmark won the Handball World Championship yesterday!

A cacophony of sound exploded as Harry soared through the air above the stadium on his Firebolt, holding the snitch high above his head. They had finally won the Quidditch Cup. Three quarters of the school and most of the staff were jumping up and down in glee as they cheered for Wood and his team who had finally managed to reclaim the Cup from the Slytherins. The green-clad players looked like they might murder someone. Preferably Harry or Wood. Before they could act on their violent thoughts, however, something strange happened. Suddenly a single voice began to sing into Lee Jordan’s megaphone and everyone stopped their chanting to listen to Colin Creevey’s song. 

♫I've paid my dues,  
Time after time,  
I've done my sentence,  
But committed no crime♫

Smiles started to spread across many faces in the stadium as they realized what song the young Gryffindor was singing. Most of the Slytherins couldn’t figure out what the crup was going on, when, suddenly, other voices joined in. 

♫And bad mistakes,  
I've made a few,  
I've had my share of sand kicked in my face,  
But I've come through♫

And before anyone knew, all of the muggleborn and half-blood witches and wizards from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor were singing together. And a few half-blood Slytherins had to stop themselves from moving to the rhythm of the Queen song. 

♫We are the champions, my friends,  
And we'll keep on fighting 'til the end,  
We are the champions,  
We are the champions,  
No time for losers,  
'Cause we are the champions of the world♫

Their voices echoed out across the Hogwarts grounds and Harry didn’t know if he had ever felt happier in his life.


	29. January 29: Arguments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble inspired by a Facebook-group writing prompt. I always thought it was a shame that the books didn't have more Charlie in them!

Charlie spread out the map in front of him - the whole world right there on her old, oaken table worn down by years of use and maybe a couple of shags, he wasn't one to gossip. Colored lights sprang up on the map showing all the places he would like to visit - China, Uganda, Peru. The map shone like the night sky. Feeling he was being watched, Charlie looked up from his map of dreams to see her looking at him. 

"Are you leaving again?", she asked. Her tone was neutral but the way she was tightening her hands by her side gave her away in an instant. 

"We've been over this, Hermione. Hundreds of times. I'm not the settling down kind of bloke," he said.

"Well let's go over it one more time, shall we?". The calm disappearing from her face. He could already see the tears forming in her eyes though she tried to fight them like she had many times before. She was so strong.

"I'm sorry, Her..."

"Don't be sorry. Just be better. Honestly Charlie - your whole family is here. I'm here. Please just stay with us." Hermione wrapped her arms around herself.

"I know," he ran his fingers through his hair, "But there is still so much I haven't seen, so much I haven't done."

"So you don't think there are things here for you to do too? You don't think there is anything you can say that will change your mind?" Tears were silently streaming down her face.

"I love you, Hermione, but no I don't think so. I can't just feel all of the adventures out there calling to me," he said looking down on the glowing map, afraid to meet her eyes. 

"I guess we’ll just have to manage without you then," Hermione said then. 

"I'm so sorry. I'll tell mum myself..."

"I'm not talking about your mother, Charlie. I'm talking about me and your unborn child." Charlie's eyes shot up from the table to see Hermione no longer wrapping her arms around herself but holding her hands protectively on her stomach. 

"My... my unborn child?" he stammered. Suddenly he was blinded by a searing light. All of the lights on the map had disappeared from the most exotic places on earth and gathered together into a glowing orb right in the middle of London. Charlie and Hermione both looked at the map before meeting each other's eyes. 

"I take it you're staying then?" Hermione said wiping the last tears from her face. 

"Definitely," he said as he moved through the kitchen and picking her up in his arms. "I guess we won't have to have that argument anymore," he said as he grinned down at her. 

"I'm sure we'll find something else to argue about though," she laughed. 

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Hermione." Charlie said. And then he kissed her.


	30. January 30: All Aboard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble wasn't inspired by anything other than me considering how Ginny and Luna might have met each other.

Ginny walked down the corridor of the train one more time listening in on the different conversations she could hear going on inside the compartments. She was fairly sure she had heard Fred and George’s voices coming from one of them the first time she had walked down the corridor. Just when she had been about to knock on the door, however, smoke had begun billowing out from underneath it and she had decided that maybe she should just leave the twins to catch up with their friend Lee and stay out of whatever they were getting into now. Ginny hadn’t seen Harry and Ron since King’s Cross, and just as well too, she couldn’t imagine having to spend so many hours in such a small compartment with Harry. She knew just knew she would say something awful and make a fool of herself. She had considered trying to find their friend Hermione but seeing as they had really only meet each other briefly in Diagon Alley that summer, Ginny thought it might be intrusive. Hermione was probably reading anyway. She sighed. Her entire family seemed to have forgotten that she didn’t really know anyone from Hogwarts yet and might need a bit of company on the ride there. Even Percy, who was charged with looking after first year students, even if they didn’t happen to be his younger sister, had run to front of the train to meet with the other prefects as soon as they had gotten on. He hadn’t even apologized. That was fine though. Ginny wasn’t really in the mood for any more of his how-to-do-well-at-Hogwarts-advice-sessions. Ginny sighed again. 

Suddenly a voice jolted her from her train of thoughts, “Anything from the trolley, dear?” An elderly witch pushing a trolley overflowing with treats and sweats was standing right behind her. 

“No thank you,” Ginny said. 

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you with a Pumpkin Pastie or perhaps a Chocolate Caldron?” The witch tried again. She looked ancient and her croaky voice was sort of terrifying. 

“No really. I’m not hungry. I was actually just returning to my compartment.” Ginny said as she reached out to open the door she was standing in front. She had passed it multiple times without hearting any voices coming from inside, so she was fairly certain it was empty. It wasn’t. Inside, sitting on the worn red cushions, was a long-haired blond girl. She didn’t seem to have noticed Ginny stepping in at all. She had one ear pressed against the window and was tapping lightly at it with one finger. 

“Are you using Morse Code?” Ginny said before she could help herself. The girl looked over at her and smiled. 

“Yes, I am. I didn’t think many witches knew about Morse Code.”

Ginny sat down opposite the girl, placing her bag next to her. “My dad is very interested in these kind of Muggle things,” she explained. 

“Oh, but it’s not really Muggle at all. You see it’s the way that Blibbering Humpdingers communicate with each other and possibly with us.”

“Blibbering what-thingers?” Ginny said. She had never heard of such a thing. 

“Blibbering Humpdingers. They are invisible creatures that communicate with each other by using Morse Code. Father says that a Muggle must have heard the tapping of two of them talking one day and been inspired to “invent” what we now call Morse Code.” The girl made air quotes around the word invent – like she didn’t really believe the person could be credited in this when clearly the invisible creatures were the geniuses. 

“Oh,” was all Ginny could say. “I hadn’t heard about those before.”

“Not a lot of people have, so you shouldn’t let that bother you,” the girl said and smiled at Ginny. If anyone else had told her this story, Ginny would have been sure they were taking the micky out of her, but there was something so honest about the girl’s smile that Ginny knew she believed every word she had told her.

“Is it all right if I stay in your compartment. My brothers sort of seem to have forgot that I’m here.”

“Of course. I don’t really have any friends besides Father so it really would exceed all expectations that I should make one even before we reach Hogwarts.” Before Ginny could ask if she really didn’t have any friends from where she had grown up, the girl continued. “Would you tell me about your brothers?”

“Sure,” she said, “I’m Ginny Weasley by the way.”

“Luna Lovegood.” The blond-haired girl answered. 

Then Ginny told Luna all about her brothers, the rest of her family, her dreams and hopes about starting school, and about a new diary she had just gotten. In return Luna told Ginny about her father, his work, and their live together in their secluded house. And a new friendship was formed.


	31. January 31: Fireworks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by a New Year's Eve writing prompt (so yes I didn't actually write it today - but I did write five pages of my thesis(!) before going out to drinks with my friends and forgetting to write a drabble xD).

Ron walked slowly through the brightly lit hallway of Draco’s gigantic flat. Or Draco and Harry’s flat, he supposed it was now. He still couldn’t really wrap his head around the fact that the two had actually moved in together. Somehow, he had thought that they would shine bright for a brief time before burning out. But here they were, years later, shining steadily like the electrical hallway light that Ron knew Draco had been against installing at first. He sighed. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy for Harry and Draco, or Drarry as Ginny had playfully dubbed them, he just wished he had someone in his life like that – someone he could share moments like the upcoming ones with. Being alone on New Year’s really sucked. Ron reached the end of the hallway and raised his hand to knock on the closed door. Why the hell did he have to go get her?

\----

Pansy was sitting in the alcove looking out on the muggles in the street getting their fireworks and glasses of champagne ready. To think that they would spend hundreds of pounds on those boring things. She hadn’t wanted to actually celebrate New Year’s this year but Draco wouldn’t taken no for an answer. Considering the fact that she had lost both her parents AND gotten divorced, she didn’t really feel like celebrating the year gone by. It had honestly been the worst year of her life and she didn’t believe for a second that one evening was going to change that. A knock on the door broke her line of thought. 

“Yes?” Pansy sighed. She supposed it had been naïve of her to think that Draco would let her sulk all night in the guest room, she had been staying in since her divorce a few months ago. She had made it trough a quiet dinner with just him and Harry but had slipped away before the other guests had started to arrive. Of course he would come get her and make her join their festivities, she sighed. Except it wasn’t Draco at the door – it was Ron Weasley. 

“Uhm, hi, Harry and Draco wanted me to let you know that they´re, well that we’re, going outside in a few to watch the fireworks,” he said trying not to make eye contact with her. Still not used to being around Slytherins, she supposed. Even though they had both been prefects at Hogwarts and even though their respective best friends were practically engaged, she couldn’t remember if she had actually ever had a conversation with the Gryffindor boy with the obscenely red hair. Or man, she corrected herself, Weasley was definitely not a boy anymore and somehow his red hair didn’t bother her the way it used to. It actually didn’t bother her at all. 

\---

“And why did they send you, Weaselby?” Pansy asked her dark eyes demanding his to meet them. He could feel heat rising in his cheeks from the mentioning of her old “nickname” for him. Even after all these years it still annoyed him that she thought she was better than … As he finally met her eyes, he stopped his train of thought because in her dark eyes he didn’t see the malice of their Hogwarts’ days – only mischief. She was joking with him. 

“I suppose they thought they might as well send one sulking sod to fetch another,” he said shrugging his shoulders. He couldn’t help but smile at her and felt a spark go trough his body as he saw her face crack into one as well. She didn’t really look like a pug at all. Sure, maybe her nose was a bit turned up – but it wasn’t that bad, and she really did have very pretty eyes. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed that before. 

“We probably aren’t the best guest, are we?” Pansy said as she swung her legs down from the alcove. Ron noticed that she also had very pretty legs. And was wearing a very pretty black dressed that hugged the curves of her body in just the right way. He had to take a steading breath. 

Ron laughed nervously and stammered, “Probably not. Should probably get outside then. To see the fireworks. With them.”

“Are you always this eloquent?” Pansy said as she stood up. She cocked her head to one side and looked up at him through her long lashes which didn’t help his eloquence at all. 

\---

“Uhm I guess,” Ron said fixing his gaze on the floor, “Shall we?” He said gesturing vaguely towards the door. 

“We probably should,” Pansy answered as she walked towards him. She had been content to sulk the night away and pretend that the past year hadn’t happened at all. But now she had different plans and they didn’t involve looking at any fireworks. “We should. But I don’t think we’re gonna.” His eyes shot up from the floor to meet hers as she stopped in front of him. “I think we’re just going to stay in here and be sulking sods together.”

Brown eyes met blue ones. Pale fingers tangled in red hair. Freckled hands roamed over a black dress. It was an explosion of colors. It was fireworks.


	32. February 1: Four walls and a roof can help you be happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an Inspirobot quote that made me think of Lupin immediately. The quote was also used as the title.

Remus ran a hand over the stone wall. Even though the fire was roaring in the fire place, the stones felt cold and smooth beneath his palm. It wasn’t cold in the room but it would take more than the small fire to heat the stones of the old castle. The rain was still falling heavily outside, making streaks down the window. His window. 

He looked around his chamber. It had taken him only a few minutes to unpack, and the room seemed much to big for the small number of things, he had taken from inside his old suitcase. He didn’t have many possessions. Never had. As a student at Hogwarts, it wasn’t normal to keep many things in the dormitory, so he hadn’t had many. After graduating he had been on assignment for the Order most of the time, moving around from place to place, so he knew he shouldn’t have many. And after everything had happened with Lily, James, Sirius, and Peter and the Order had disbanded, he hadn’t had many opportunities to support himself and so he couldn’t have any. He knew of course that Dumbledore would provide him with anything he asked for but he didn’t need anymore things. Because they were only that, just things. They didn’t really matter. 

For the first time in a long time, he could go to sleep and know that there was no chance that he would wake up soaked through by rain pouring in from yet another hole in the roof. He could sleep knowing that the roof could not potentially cave in on him during the night. He could wake up knowing that he wouldn’t contract yet another cold, he couldn’t afford to treat. For the first time in many months, he knew what he would be doing tomorrow, the day after, even next week. If it goes well I suppose, a small voice said in his head. For once, he managed to ignore it. For now, he was safe. For now, he was secure. For now, he was happy.


	33. February 2: Beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble inspired by a Facebook writing prompt.

"Luna! You're... You're... You're naked!" Even though Neville had seen her like this too many times too count over the years they had spent together, he couldn't help roam over her beautiful body with his eyes every single time. Feeling his own body begin to stir, he diverted his gaze only to see a sea of people lounging on towels reading books, playing beach volley in the sand, and swimming in the waves - all stark naked. "I... When you said too meet you at the beach, I didn't know this was what you had in mind," he said feebly 

"Oh but it's so much more fun this way, so much more liberating and relaxing!" she smiled and held out her hand to him. "Come with me and I'll help you with a sun protection spell after we get you out of those clothes." 

"Uhm we might have to wait just a bit before I take them off," he said squirming but Luna only laughed and squeezed his hand.


	34. February 3: Heaven is a Place on Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is a continuation of the ones from the 18th and 24th of January. When I uploaded the second part of this little story, I forgot to comment on the fact that this is apparently the only Filius Flitwick/Aurora Sinistra story on AO3. That of course got me thinking about what their ship name would be - Firora, Aurilius, Filira? Or perhaps something more symbolic like FlickLight or Levitating Lights (I feel like the latter would make a great song title). What do you guys think?

The days after the Frog Choir’s concert had been strange. One the one hand, they had been wonderful. The other staff members were complimenting him left and right. He even thought he heard Severus mutter something about, him enjoying it, but that may have been his own ego getting to him. Many students had been asking him to join the choir, and he had enlisted Hagrid to precure toads for all the new members. He had learned from his last toad hunt that that sort of work wasn’t for him. 

One the other hand, while the days since the concert had thus been the best in his years of conducting the Frog Choir, they had not been among the best of days of his personal life. Filius felt utterly embarrassed that he hadn’t simply told Aurora how he felt about her in private. Why did he have to make such a public display of it? The only consolation to the fact that Aurora had run from the Great Hall just after the concert ended and seemed to have been avoiding him ever since was that only Charity knew why that saddened him more than anything. She had tried speaking to him mere minutes ago, saying that she had something to tell him. Not wanting to deal with her sympathy as he was currently occupied with his own special combination of shame and self-pity, he had run away yelling some excuse. He couldn’t even remember what he had said to her. 

As Filius turned down the corridor leading to his office, he noticed that there was something white hanging on his doorknob. It was a plastic bag. When he got closer, he recognized the logo on it. It was from the Muggle music store that he and charity had gone to in London. He took it down from the doorknob. Before going into the privacy of his office to open it, he looked around the corridor as if he could catch a glimpse of the person who had left it there. But who could it really be but Charity? Perhaps she had gone back to the store to find something to cheer him up. Maybe that had been what she was trying to tell him just now. Filius reached inside the bag and pulled out a piece of sheet music. A note that must have been placed on top of it flickered to the floor without his noticing. He looked at the lyrics to the song. 

♫ When the night falls down,  
I wait for you,  
And you come around,  
And the world's alive,  
With the sound of kids,  
On the street outside.

When you walk into the room,  
You pull me close and we start to move,  
And we're spinning with the stars above,  
And you lift me up in a wave of love.

Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?  
Ooh, heaven is a place on earth,  
They say in heaven, love comes first,  
We'll make heaven a place on earth,  
Ooh, heaven is a place on earth. ♫

He felt the knot in his stomach twist itself even tighter then it had already been. Why would Charity send him something like that? It seemed almost cruel considering the words of the song, considering the mentioning of stars and love. He turned to put the sheet music down on his desk, unable to look at it anymore. That was when he noticed the note that had fallen to the floor. As he picked it up, he saw that it was not scribbled by his friend’s hasty and wobbling hand. His heart began to beat faster. The writing of the note was beautiful with big, sweeping letters in dark blue ink. But the most beautiful about the note was the meaning of the words contained within it. 

Dear Filius,   
I am sorry I ran out after your concert ended. It was a lovely concert and a very lovely song. I suppose I was overwhelmed, but that does not excuse my dramatic behavior. I do believe I have been spending too much time with our teenage students as their flair for the dramatic seem to have rubbed off on me. That may be something we have in common. I was not expecting such a declaration of affection, and I was therefore not prepared to react to it in front of most of the school. But I am very sorry that I ran and hope that you will accept this song as my apology. I also hope that you will meet me in the Astronomy Tower this evening so you can tell me what you think off your song.  
Yours,  
Aurora 

The knot in Filius' stomach untied itself and he felt as if he were floating. Aurora had liked his song. And she had given him a song in return. Maybe catching her heart was not really as difficult as catching a star and maybe heaven really was a place on earth.


	35. February 4: The day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by the fact that I just rewatched How to Train Your Dragon and therefore had to do a Charlie-drabble.

Charlie had a good feeling when he woke up that morning. Today was going to be a good day, he could feel it. He went down to breakfast with a huge smile on his face. Maybe this would finally be the day.

“Wothcer Charlie! What’s with the grin?” Tonks said as she plopped down next to him at the Gryffindor table and snatched a piece of toast from his plate. The first couple of times she had joined him at the table, some of the other Gryffindors had tried to get her to leave, saying that Puffs should stay at their own table. This had abruptly stopped when Tonks, later that day using her metamorphmagus powers, had transformed herself into Professor McGonagall and given them a proper scolding about not being inclusive. Charlie was fairly sure he had actually seen the real McGonagall, a smirk on her face, watching this as it went down. Since that day, no one ever said anything about Charlie and Tonks eating together at the Gryffindor table. 

“Oi get your own toast!” 

“I’d rather have yours. It already has jam on it,” Tonks said with a wide smile, several teeth covered in said jam.

“It’s just like being at home. Fred and George are always stealing stuff off my plate,” Charlie sighed. Just as he said it, he noticed Tonk’s hair changing color from the bubblegum pink she usually preferred to a copper red that matched his own. 

“No, now it’s like being at home,” she said as she gestured to it. “Look at me I’m a Weasley!” From the other side of the table Bill who was studying like mad for his N.E.W.Ts looked up from a book long enough to roll his eyed at Tonks. Charlie laughed and threw a piece of toast after her. “You never said why you were grinning,” she said as she tried to dodge the toast that nevertheless landed in her hair without her noticing, “And if it has anything to do with something you might have dreamt last night feel free not to tell me about it.”

Charlie laughed again, “It’s nothing like that. I just think maybe today will be it!”

“It?” Tonks furrowed her red brows.   
“The day, Tonks! The day where we get to see a dragon!”

“Oh,” she said, “Why though?”

“’Cause… ‘cause I can just feel something good is going to happen, you know? And we’re starting a new subject in Care of Magical Creatures today, remember? Kettleburn wouldn’t tell us what it was last week. So maybe it’s dragons!”

Tonks shared a brief look with Bill, who had looked up from his book again. He shook his head slightly and she knew what it meant. They weren’t going to see any dragons today. She looked at her best friend sitting beside her. He looked so excited - his eyes were shining with a gleeful anticipation, she didn’t know if she had ever felt about anything in her life. He was going to be so sad. She had to get him to think about something else. Fast. And so, she kissed him. Right on the lips. Right in the middle of breakfast. 

Charlie looked at her, confusion in his eyes now. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to,” Tonks shrugged. She was surprised to feel that she meant it. 

“All right. But could you maybe change your hair back to normal before you do it again. It feels like I’m kissing a family member,” he said as he ran in his fingers through her hair to get the piece of toast out. 

“Better?” Tonks asked. Her hair had returned to its usual unusual shade of pink. 

“Much better!” He grinned before kissing her. 

Charlie didn’t see any dragons that day. But the feeling he had woken with that morning hadn’t been wrong. It had been a very good day.


	36. February 5: If you won't surrender to love. Surrender to a cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an Inspirobot quote that I modified slightly (it was originally "Don't surrender to love. Surrender to a cat").

Fred woke up and gently disentangled himself from the hair, arms, and legs of Hermione Granger. They had spent yet another night together after a few too shots of Firewhiskey many at the Leaky Cauldron after work, and now he was about to do what he always did the morning after – leave. They never talked about their nights together or about them really. It wasn’t that Fred didn’t want to per se, he just didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how he was going to explain to either Hermione or his little brother that he might be falling for his ex-girlfriend. Fred sighed. 

“Not today,” he muttered. Just as he was about to sit up and quietly sneak out of Hermione’s flat. Her big, fat fur-ball of a cat jumped first onto the bed and next onto his chest. 

“Hey! Get off!” Fred hissed as the Crookshanks’ claws dug into his exposed skin. But the cat stared at him with big yellow eyes – its flat face inches from his own. 

“Please move. I have to get to the shop early to get everything in order,” he said, not really knowing why exactly he was explaining himself to the animal. There was just something about that cat. Crookshanks looked at him and shook its head. Or moved it from side to side because even Crookshanks’ couldn’t be that smart, could he? Fred had to admit that it had looked an awful lot like the cat was calling his bullshit though. 

“Fine. I don’t actually have to be at the shop early, are you happy?” He said as he started patting the cat. Crookshanks purred. “I know you’re trying to look out for your human, but do you really think that making me stay is the best thing you can do for her?” The cat looked into his eyes as if trying to decide. Then it laid down on his chest and continued purring, sending calming vibrations through Fred’s body. 

“All right then, I suppose that’s your way of saying yes.”


	37. February 6: Tunes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by Arthur's pureness.

“Dam da da da da da daaa, dam da dam da da da da da da daa!”

”Supper’s ready!” Molly’s voice rang through the house. 

“Dam da da da da da daaa, dam da dam da da da da da da daa!”

“Arthur! Supper!” It raised in intensity as she called louder. 

“Well you're a real tough cookie with a long history,  
Of breaking little hearts like the one in me,  
That's okay, let's see how you do it,  
Put up you dukes, let's get down to it,  
Hit me with your best… Molly, honey, what are you doing? I was just getting to the best part.” Arthur argued as she lifted his headphones off, effectively stopping his moves before he really got into it. 

“And I was just getting to the part where I had made supper for my husband who then couldn’t even be bothered to answer me when I called him making me consider if I should instead be giving his food to the gnomes in the garden!” She said, hands on her hips, voice rising with each word as she eyed his Walkman suspiciously. 

“I’m sorry Mollywobbles. It’s just that ever since Hermione got me this wonder for Christmas,” he said clapping the device at his hip, “I can’t stop listening to tunes. That’s what the muggles call it, Molly! Tunes! Isn’t that a wonderful word!”

“Marvelous,” she said drily, “Supper.” She turned around starting to walk back towards the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she remarked, “And you don’t have you tell me that you’ve been listening to that thing non-stop – I live with you, and you aren’t exactly Celestina Warbeck.” 

Arthur laughed as he walked after his wife. He knew that she was only teasing him – she liked being serenated just as much as the next witch.


	38. February 7: Test Subject #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't really a drabble but rather a one-shot I began years ago but decided I should finish. I'll probably write the rest of it tomorrow.

“Do you really think this was the best day to go visit them, Ron?” Hermione said as the of them entered the swamped store. The place was filled with Hogwarts students looking for the newest Weasley Wizard’s Wheezes products to bring to school.

“Well not anymore,” Ron said rubbing his leg where what looked like a first-year student had just accidently hit him with her new cauldron. "But this was sort of the only day we all had time to meet up at Diagon Alley wasn’t it?” Hermione shrugged. They had all been pretty busy over the summer holidays. 

“Oi I think I see Fred,” Ron shouted. Hermione looked in the same direction and shook her head.

“That’s George,” she said. How could he not be able to tell his own brothers apart?

“No it’s not,” Ron answered. He didn’t look so sure anymore though and as they made their way slowly through the crowd, he began to look more and more grim. Hermione thought it best not to comment on it. 

“Hi George,” Hermione said waving at the Weasley twin they had spotted through the croud. He was wearing a violently purple robe that clashed with his red hair in the most alarming way. And that’s probably why he chose, she thought to herself. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Oi Hermione, Ron. I didn’t know you would be stopping by today!” George said with a big grin on his face. “Why do you like so sour Ron? Snatch one of the puking pastels did you?” Ron only looked at Hermione with venom before moving past George to the backroom. “What’s with Ronniekins?” George asked.

“It’s nothing. He’s just annoyed that I’m better at telling you and Fred apart than he is,” Hermione said shrugging her shoulders.  
“Ah so the usual,” he said putting an arm around her shoulder and walking her towards one of the backrooms albeit not the one Ron had just entered. “I thought he had grown accustomed to you being at almost everything by now, but I guess not.” 

Hermione thought that Ron had maybe been more accepting of that fact when they had still been together rather than now where they had gone back to just being friends, but she didn’t say anything to George – that was her and Ron’s business, not anyone else’s. 

“Do you want a cup of tea Hermione?” George asked suddenly. 

“Sure that’d be lovely,” she said looking around at all the different ingredients on the table. The twins looked to be doing some serious magic back here, she thought.

“I wouldn’t touch any of that if I were you,” another well-known voice said behind her. She turned around to face Fred. “But then again I guess you already knew that. Being the smartest witch of your generation and all,” he said smiling down at her. 

“Are we ever just going to let that go,” she said swatting his arm. 

“Nope,” he said, still grinning. 

“Tea’s done,” George called breaking the moment. Hermione moved past Fred to the kitchenette. George held out a steaming sup to her. 

“Thank you,” Hermione said as she sat down. “So what it is that you’re working on? It’s some rather serious ingredients you're using,” she said as she blew on the tea. 

“We’re trying to make the world’s most potent…” Fred began before George interrupted him. 

“Potion. It’s a kind of potion we’re working on,” he said and gave Fred a pointed stare. “And Fred here knows better than to go around telling people what we’re working on.”  
“Come on mate it’s Hermione. It’s not like she’d tell anyone or start a competing business. She’s way too busy at the ministry to do that anyway,” Fred said blinking at her. Hermione rolled her eyes at the last part. Just because she wouldn’t come out to the Leaky Cauldron every weekend didn’t mean she deserved to be teased about her work life. 

“Really, I wouldn’t. I’d love to know what sort of potion you’re cooking up with those things,” she said deciding to ignore Fred’s jab. “I bet it something really difficult which requires a lot of skill and knowledge.” Both Fred and George raised an eyebrow at her. 

“You can flatter me all you want but I won’t tell you so just drink your tea,” George said. Hermione rolled her eyes and took a sip of the tea. It was really still too hot but she was a little offended by George not wanting to tell her, and she didn’t know what to say. 

“So how do you feel?” George asked looking at her with renewed interest. 

“What do you mean?” She asked looking from him to Fred who looked about as confused as she felt.

“I mean do you feel any different about anything?” He asked her. 

“No,” Hermione said slowly, “Should I? Did you put something in my tea? Are you testing products on me?” Her voice got increasingly high as she spoke. George held up his hands in defense. 

“Just a calming draft. That clearly isn’t working,” he said. 

“Why would you give me a calming draft? I was perfectly calm before you started putting things in my tea,” Hermione said as she angrily said her cup down on the table. 

“Sorry,” George said, holding his arms up again, “It’s just because Verity has been pretty stressed out lately, with all the shop being so budy, you know. So I was just testing out a potion to give to her.”

“Then maybe you should test it on yourself or another consenting human being.” Hermione got up just as Ron entered the backroom. “We’re leaving,” she said to him. She turned to Fred and pointed at him, “You need to keep your brother in check.” Before any of the Weasley brothers could answer, Hermione had left the room. Ron shrugged his shoulders and scuffled after her. They were meeting Harry and Ginny after all.

“You put some of that in her tea didn’t you?” Fred said pointing to a simmering cauldron. 

“Yeah,” George said looking at his notes, “But maybe I didn’t put enough of it in. If it had worked she should be all over you by now,” he mused as she scribbled something down. 

“Wait what? You put some of my hair in the potion?” Fred said his voice rising significantly in pitch. George just waved at him dismissively as he continued to take notes. “Oi you can’t just go around stealing people’s hair and slipping stuff into other people’s tea!”

“I don’t see why not. It’s a win-win situation really.”

“Really? And how’s that exactly, oh clever one?”

“Well first of all we get to try out the potion”, he said. Fred was about to tell him off but George continued. “And since you clearly like her and have liked her for quite some time maybe something good could actually come from it.” Fred groaned. 

“You can’t just slip people love potions, George! Tested or untested. It’s not right!”

“She would have forgiven us,” he said. Fred wasn’t so sure. “Besides it clearly didn’t work anyway.”

“Clearly,” Fred said drily. But he couldn’t help but feel slightly sad that it hadn’t. If only for a brief moment. “How did you figure I like her anyway?”

“It’s not like you’re all that casual about it, oh smooth one. You’re always pestering her to go out with us, and on the nights were she finally relents you spend the entire evening staring at her, hanging on her every word,” George answered. Fred cursed at himself and his brother. “I just don’t get why the potion didn’t work,” George mumbled looking his notes over. “I guess I’ll have to test again.”

And so he did.


	39. February 8: Test Subject #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This a continuation of the story from yesterday which I'll finish up tomorrow.

Fred had made it clear that he didn’t want anymore to do with George’s testing and had retreated to their office to deal with some of the paperwork they always seemed to get behind on. It was tedious work but it had to be done. Normally Verity would take care of it, but she had managed to weasel her way out of it for the past couple of weeks; and honestly, Fred would rather be in the office alone than working with George right now. He didn’t know what had gotten into him lately, normally Fred was the more reckless one of the two but George seemed possessed by the idea of making the love potion work for some reason. Feeling his mind wander from the paperwork in front of him, Fred got up from the desk and left the room to make himself a cup of tea. He never made it to the kitchenette though. 

When he came out onto the gallery, he heard screaming coming from the store. Or was it singing? Fred walked briskly towards the sound. As he got closer, he could tell without a doubt that the noises, that were indeed singing, came from his twin brother. There, in the middle of the store, was George. He was down on one knee in front of Verity, singing his heart out. The young woman, who had worked for them for a couple of years, looked absolutely mortified. And everyone else were staring in disbelief. Fred ran down the stairs from where the office was located and sprinted towards George and Verity. 

“And that’s enough singing for today, Georgie.” He said placing on of his large hands over his brother’s mouth. George mumbled something inaudible against his palm but Fred ignored him. “Help me get him into the storage room,” he whispered to Verity and they both grabbed one of George’s arms. This unfortunately left his mouth unguarded and he began serenading Verity again. “I’m sorry about that everybody,” Fred said, addressing the shoppers, loudly to overpower his brother, “It seems that my brother here has been testing products on himself. We are sorry to have disturbed your shopping and will therefore be giving a 10 percent discount on all purchases exceeding 15 pounds within the next hour to make sure that you have had a good experience here at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Verity here will be back to help you shortly.” At his words everyone turned their attention to the products all around them and started grabbing things left and right. Nothing like a discount to divert attention, Fred thought.

He and Verity quickly escorted George, who was still pleading Verity to marry him through song, into the storage room. When they entered Fred let go of his brother and locked the door behind them. “I’m so sorry Verity.”

“What the hell is going on?” She said looking from Fred to George, who had plopped down on a box of products and was quietly listing all the things that he loved about Verity. They included her hair, her eyes, her nose, her mouth, her cheeks, her shoulders, her hands, her feet, and basically any other part of her body. 

“Uhm it would seem that he decided to try out this love potion that we’ve been working on on himself,” Fred said. “Like Polyjuice Potion you need the hair of someone else to make it work. Only instead of transforming you into that person, you fall madly in love with them.” He explained.

“For how long?” Verity asked. 

“I’m not entirely sure,” he said. He went to George and snatched the notebook from his coat pocket. “A couple of hours by the looks of it.” Verity didn’t say anything. “I’m sorry he used your hair Verity. Not that it's an excuse, but I don’t think he thought it would actually work. He tried it on Hermione earlier and it didn’t seem to have any effects on her.”

“He tried that on Hermione Granger? That’s a bold move if ever I heard of one.”

“Stupid more like. He shouldn’t be testing stuff on anyone without their consent which is why I’ll be having a talk with him after this wears off." He looked down at his brother, "Until then he can wait in here,” he said as he began walking towards the door. To the dismay of George, Verity followed him. When they locked the door, he was banging at it from the inside. 

“Please don’t leave me, Verity. I love you!”

Ignoring George completely, Verity said. “Why do you think it worked on him but not on Hermione?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Fred shrugged, “But I think I need to go explain to her what happened.”


	40. February 9: Results are in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the conclusion to the story from the last two days.

Fred walked down the cobbled stones of Diagon Alley. He wasn’t sure that Hermione and Ron would be in the Leaky Cauldron but since it was just past lunch time, he assumed that Ron would have insisted they get something to eat. Fred was running over what he should say to Hermione, how much he should say to her. When he reached the pub, he took a deep breath before stepping inside. As always it was dimly lit and smelled like something was burning in the kitchen. He spotted them right away, sitting together at a table laughing and eating lunch – Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Fred. Ginny saw her brother before the rest. 

“Hello Fred! Good to see you! Do you wanna join us for lunch?” she said as she embraced him. Harry stood up to greet him as well. Ron kept eating his sandwich – after all they had already seen each other that day. Hermione just looked at him, her mouth a tight line. 

“Hey Gin,” he said, “I was actually hoping to talk to Hermione.” He looked at her with a pleading look in his eyes. 

“Well I’m not sure I want to talk to you,” she said. 

“Please Hermione. I just want to explain what happened.” He could tell that she was battling between her curiosity – her unquenchable thirst for knowledge – and her anger. In the end, the former won.

“Fine,” she said standing up, “I’ll give you five minutes.” As they walked out of the pub, Fred could her Ginny and Harry asking Ron about what was going on with them but Fred didn’t pay them much attention. He was much more focused on breathing slowly in a futile attempt at getting his heart to stop beating so damn fast.

When they got outside, he motioned towards a bench. They sat down. “First of all, I’m really sorry that George did that to you. He should never had put something in your tea without asking for permission. I honestly don’t know what came over him. Second, I …”

“Why are you even here apologizing? Shouldn’t it be George talking to me right now?”

“Oh he will,” Fred said stressing every word, “Once he’s back to normal and he’s done apologizing to Verity for serenating her in the middle of the store and begging her to marry him.”

“What?!” Hermione exclaimed. A couple of shoppers turned around to look at them. An old with eyed Fred suspiciously. He tried smiling reassuringly at her but that only made her scowl even more. Her turned his attention back to the young woman sitting next to him. 

“Yeah. He decided to test the potion on himself.” Fred said, “And as you have no doubt worked out by now, it was a love potion. George and I developed a recipe that is meant to work like Polyjuice Potion, only instead of turning into the person whose hair your using, you fall in love with them.” 

“So what you’re saying is that George slid a love potion into my tea?!” There was a look of total astonishment on her face. “Why would he do that?!” Fred took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth. He could come up with an excuse or he could confess to her. He looked into her beautiful brown eyes. 

“I think he thought he was doing me a favor,” he said slowly. Hermione furrowed her brows as she processed all of the information. 

“He put your hair in it?”

“Yes.”

“Because you like me?”

“Yes.”

“You really do have the nosiest, most meddling family I’ve ever met,” Hermione said. Before he could answer, she continued, “So what you’re saying is that the potion worked on George when he used Verity’s hair in it?”

“Yes. But obviously nothing happened when you drank it,” he said, not really meeting her eyes. She hadn’t commented on the fact that he had admitted he had feelings for her. “I haven’t figured out why the potion only works some of the time yet though. Anyway, I’m sorry that you got dragged into …”

“I have a theory,” she said interrupting his repeated apologizing. 

“You do?” Fred couldn’t help look at her.

“Does George like Verity?” She asked. 

“I don’t think so. She’s a friend but nothing more than that.” Hermione looked like she was running through options in her head. A few seconds later, she nodded to herself like she had come to a conclusion, like she had assessed all the possibilities and the results were in. She looked up at him.

“I think that maybe the potion doesn’t work if the person drinking it already liked the person whose hair is in it,” she said slowly. 

“What?” Fred couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“I’m saying that maybe the reason the potion didn’t alter my feeling for you is because I already liked you before I drank it.” 

“Really?” He asked, a big grin spreading on his face.

“Really. Have you ever seen anyone convince me to go out as much as you have?” She said cocking an eyebrow. Instead of answering, Fred leaned in and kissed her. It was only a brief moment, short and sweet. 

“Yeah well, I’m guessing that in the future I’ll be trying to convince you to stay in instead.” Hermione swatted his arm before grapping a hold of him to pull him closer to her.


	41. February 10: Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by a Facebook group writing prompt.

She had always felt a connection to them. Had always been able to tell when they were being mistreated or underappreciated. She knew it even if she didn’t see it happening. She could tell when they were appreciated too. When someone ran their fingers over the words, inhaling the intoxicating smell of the old pages as they sucked up their knowledge or their tales, it sent a shiver down her spine as if someone was running their fingers down her back. Yes, Irma Pince had always had a special connection with the books of the Hogwarts library. 

The first time she had stepped into the library as an 11-year-old witch, she had known that this was her home. She couldn’t explain how she knew at first, but as the years passed, she had realized that she and the books were one. No one had been able to explain how it could be so and many had not believed her when she tried to explain it. But Irma knew that it was the truth. 

She had thought so when one of her first-year class mates had hurled a book at another student in anger and the awful sound it made as it hit the wall and slid to the floor had sent a wave of pain through her body. And she had known so when a boy broke her heart when she was fifteen and one of the books in the library had inexplicitly self-combust. 

Since that day, Irma had wowed to protect the library’s books. She had guarded them as well as her own heart from all those who might harm them. She knew that people would never truly understand, but she also knew that she would never be alone. Her books would always be there.


	42. February 11: The Golden Card

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by me eating a delicious chocolate frog today.

Rose awoke with a start as her little brother jumped onto her bed. This wasn’t an unusual thing, it happened quite often actually, but the fact that he was also shouting was. 

“It’s Christmas, Rosie! It’s Christmas!” He squealed as he jumped up and down. 

“I know, Hugo, stop jumping on my bed!” Rose Granger-Weasley tried to mimic her mother’s most stern expression. It lasted all of two seconds before she squealed too. 

The two of them darted from her room, down the stairs, and into the living room. Over the chimney were two knitted stockings made by their grandmother – one was turquoise and had an H on it, the other was marron and had an R on, Molly had never been able to get out of that particular habit much to Ron's dismay. The children ran to their Christmas stockings and plunged their hands into them. Both were filled with small presents from their families, but on top of these were, as always, two chocolate frogs. Every year for as long as Rose and Hugo could remember, they had gotten a chocolate frog on their birthdays and on Christmas day. This year was no different. The two of them tore into the packaging, focused on the cards inside. They didn’t even notice the enchanted chocolate frogs escaping and jumping towards freedom. 

“Who did you get Hugo? Did you get Agrippa or Ptolemy? Father hasn’t got those in his collection,” Rose said as she put down yet another Dumbledore card disappointedly. They already had so many of those that they usually used them to build card towers. 

“No, I got daddy! I got daddy!” Hugo yelled excitedly. 

“What?” Rose exclaimed as she scrambled over to his side, “He’s on a Famous Witches and Wizards Card and he never told us?!” They looked down at the gold card in Hugo’s hands and there he was. Ronald Weasley, 1980-present, Famous wizard who helped bring down Lord Voldemort. Rose and Hugo looked at each other. “Wow,” they said in unison. 

At the living room door, looking at his children, Ron stood with the widest grin on his face as two chocolate frogs jumped past him.


	43. February 12: Assumptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by the fact that I find this particular scene in the fourth book/film problematic. So this is my spin on it :-)

Hermione looked down at the Bulgarian Quidditch Team’s mascots as they sang and danced on the pitch, egging the men in the stadium on. Their varying skin colors all seemed luminous and their long hair, ranging in colors from white-gold to midnight-black, fanned out behind them even though there was no wind. They looked like something straight out of a L’Oréal commercial, she thought. She scoffed. They were probably pretty if you liked that sort of unattainable beauty. Which all the men in the enormous Quidditch stadium apparently did. 

“This is just pathetic,” Hermione said to Ginny, who was sitting beside her, “They’ve got all them men in this place wrapped around their little fingers.”

“I thought you knew never to assume the most obvious explanation, Hermione.” 

The voice came from behind her. Hermione turned to see Charlie smiling down at her. He had taken the pieces cotton that his father had given him out of his ears. There was a mischievous look in his blue eyes that reminded her of the twins, but she didn’t know the second eldest Wesley brother enough to know whether he was like them. He cocked his head sideways as if signaling for her to deduce why she was wrong in her assumption. 

Hermione looked from Charlie to the other men and boys surrounding her. Mr Weasley, Bill, and Percy, who had both stuffed cotton in their ears, seemed to be enjoying the show without being affected. Harry, Ron, Fred, and George, who hadn’t been quick enough to employ Mr Weasley’s protection, however, were all screaming at the Veela mascots at the top of their lungs, flexing their muscles, and generally making complete arses of themselves. 

“The Veela only affect those who are attracted to women, don’t they? Not men in general” Hermione asked. Charlie nodded.

“Which is why I don’t need these.” He nodded at the pieces of cotton in his hands. “I haven’t told mum and dad yet,” he said as he brushed something from his fathers shoulder affectionately. Mr Weasley who couldn’t hear what Hermione and Charlie were saying due to the cotton pieces sticking out of his ears just smiled at his son. He didn’t notice that he had taken the protection out of his ears. “I will tell them though,” Charlie said as he looked down at her again, “So I would appreciate if you didn’t. I’d rather explain it to them myself.”

“Of course, Charlie. I won’t tell anyone,” Hermione said. “And I’m sure Ginny won’t tell them either.” Hermione turned to her friend. Ginny looked back at her with a dazed expression. 

“What?” She said in a dreamy voice. She sounded like she was a million years away. 

“Uhm nothing,” Hermione said trying not to laugh at Ginny’s vacant expression. Clearly her first assumption had been way off.


	44. February 13: Just because you can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an Inspirobot quote.

“Oh my! That’s quite a special hat you’ve got there, Neville.” Hermione said as diplomatically as she could as he sat down next to her at the Gryffindor table. Ron’s jaw dropped and a little piece of egg fell out of his gaping mouth. Hermione jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow but he seemed to have lost his ability to speak. The same seemed to have happened to Harry who was sitting next to Ron, staring at the hat as if it was a snake charmer and he the snake. 

“Thank you, Hermione.” Neville said as he nervously adjusted the thing. Hermione wasn’t really sure it could actually be categorized as a hat. It looked sort of like the secret love child of a tea cozy and a bonnet. “Did your grandmother send it to you?”

“No, my great-uncle Algie gave it to me this summer,” he said. “He gave me a book about becoming more confident… uhm… and then the hat as well.” Neville gestured towards it as if it needed explaining. 

“That’s lovely, Neville.” Hermione said.

“Why though?” Ron, who had found his voice again. Hermione shot him a dangerous look. “The hat I mean. Why the hat?”

“Well the book has a list of rules to seem more self-assured you see. Number 8 is ‘wear a hat just because you can,’ so I guess that’s why uncle Algie send it along. It’s meant to be a sort of statement piece to spark conversation I think” Neville looked over his shoulder to see a couple of Slytherins pointing at him and laughing. His cheeks became red almost instantly. “I don’t think he knows much about fashion though. He’s really more of plant person… like me.” At that moment Luna Lovegood walked by the Gryffindor table. 

“Good morning,” she said in her sing-song voice. “I like your hat,” Luna said to Neville, “Father is always saying that not enough wizards wear hats anymore.” Before Neville could gather his wits to answer, Luna had smiled at him and continued her journey through the Great Hall. 

“What do you know, it worked!” Hermione said as she padded Neville on the shoulder. “But maybe you don’t need to wear the hat all day just because you can.” Neville was looking after Luna, his cheeks still burning bright red and he didn’t even notice when Hermione took the hat from his head and placed it in his lap. She was intrigued to find out what other rules Neville was going to be living by this year at Hogwarts.


	45. February 14: A Valentine Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Valentine's Day inspired drabble. It continues the Pansy story from the 3rd and 5th of January.

“I swear if I have to listen to ‘A Caldron Full of Hot, Strong Love’ one more time today, I will blow something up,” Pansy said angrily. She sat her coffee mug down on the table harshly and a bit of the hot liquid spilled onto the mahogany table. 

“Hey!” Draco snapped. He had his wand out in no time, clearing the coffee before it stained the table, turning of the radio simultaneously. “That’s was expensive you know.”

“Like you even know how much this table cost,” she scoffed. 

“Touché.” He paused, “Maybe you don’t have to aim to ruin everyone’s day because you don’t have someone to spend Valentine’s day with though, Pansy.” 

“I’m here with you, aren’t I?” She said, only sounding slightly bitter. 

“Only for about…” He checked his watch, “15 more minutes. Blaise will be home soon and I would prefer if we didn’t have to entertain you all night. I kind of have other things planned if you know what I mean.”

“Of course I know what you mean. You’re about as subtle as a Blast-Ended Skrewt,” Pansy said. Draco only winked at her. “I wouldn’t be this bitter if some one the dates I’ve been going on lately had at least been decent but I swear it’s like the universe is throwing losers at me.”

“And when you say the universe, do you mean Millicent?” Draco was deftly using magic to stir tree different pots on the stove and chopping up a salad at the same time without even looking at it. “Maybe you should try getting dates another way. I thought you realized that after the Stan Shunpike-incident.”

“No need to rehash that memory,” Pansy said holding up a hand to stop him. That particular date had been a low point. “I know I need to try something else. Which is actually why I’ve signed up to meet with a matchmaker next week.”

“Uuh a matchmaker. That’s exiting?! Why didn’t you do it in time to get a date for tonight?”

“Because it’s bad luck.” She answered matter the fact. 

“What is?” Draco looked genuinely confused. 

“To have your first date on Valentine’s day. I thought everyone knew that,” Pansy said. “There’s supposedly some sort of old curse that dooms every relationship that begins on that specific day. Reserves it for ‘real’ lovers or something like that, I guess.” 

“I never took you for one, who believes in old tales like that,” Draco laughed. 

“I just don’t wanna tempt the universe to screw with me even more,” she said defensively. 

“At least something would be,” Draco muttered. Pansy threw her mug at him but he was so freakishly fast that he caught it mid-air. “Old seeker, remember?” He flashed her a white grin before turning serious. “I’m just teasing you, Pansy, you know that right?” She shrugged. “Hey I am. I just want you to be happy. Whether that’s alone or with someone special or with multiple unspecial people, I don’t care.” He walked over to where she was sitting and wrapped an arm around her. She leaned against his side. “I’m sure the matchmaking will be a great success.” She scoffed. He ignored it and placed a kiss on the top of her head. 

“I guess we’ll have to see,” Pansy said. She got up and gave her best friend a hug. “I’ll leave you to your plating, mr Chef.”

“What will you do tonight?” Draco asked as she walked towards the door. 

“Probably something stupid.” Pansy winked over her shoulder.


	46. February 15: Get lucky - don't smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to write yesterday - that's what happens when you have a family birthday and then accidentally buy a new computer game in the same day. Anyway this drabble was inspired an Inspirobot quote, which was also used for the title.

“Please don’t do that!” Remus said and pushed him away. 

“What kiss you in front of the others?” Sirius said teasingly. “You know Moony, I do think that Prongs and Wormtail here,” he gestured towards their two best friends who were playing wizard’s chess and generally ignoring them, “do realize that we are gay. We have been dating for a while.” He leaned down to kiss his boyfriend again but Remus avoided his lips. 

“It’s not that!” He said. But Sirius could tell he was blushing slightly. His pale skin didn’t conceal anything. Normally Sirius loved making him blush but right now was not one of those moments. 

“What is it then?” He asked. 

“I don’t like kissing you right after you’ve smoked. It tastes disgusting and you smell awful.”

“What?! Cigarettes taste and smell great,” Sirius shouted. 

“They really don’t,” James said drily.

“Mind your own business, Prongs!” Sirius retorted. He looked down at his boyfriend, “I can’t quit smoking. I feel so free when I smoke. It reminds me of being away from my family you see.” He sent Remus his most dashing smile. But Remus just shook his head. “I can’t quit. I feel so … so lucky when I have a cigarette,” he tried again.

Remus bit his lower lip. Then he whispered, “What if you could get lucky another way?” All the blood rushed from Sirius head to another, and right now, much more important part of his body. Remus got up from the couch he had been sitting on and said in a slightly husky voice, “Think about it.” Sirius stared after Remus in shock as he walked up the stairs to the dormitories agonizingly slowly so Sirius could see all the movements of his lanky body. Just before Remus was out of sight, he turned around to look at him briefly. His eyes were both challenging and vulnerable. When he was gone, Sirius stepped over to the fire, grabbed his pack from the pocket of his leather jacket, and threw it into the flames of the common room fire. 

“Did you just toss your smokes into the fire?” Peter asked. 

“Yep,” Sirius said before running up the steps after his boyfriend.


	47. February 16: Something stupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of the story from the 3rd and 5th of January and the 14th of February.

Pansy had said to Draco that she would do something stupid when she had left his house on the evening of Valentine’s day. She just hadn’t realized just how stupid of a thing she might actually do. But right now, that something was snoring slightly beside her. 

About five minutes ago, Pansy had awoken with a terrible headache and a lot of question – the most pressing one being: where the hell am I? The answer to that question was answered when she looked next to her and found an unruly mop of red hair. She was in one of the countless Weasley residents. As she stared at the red locks, flashes of the night before came to her like short bursts of light in what might otherwise have been impenetrable darkness. 

Pansy remembered how she decided that she would go to that new dive bar in Diagon Alley, the Mermaid’s Mistress, for just one drink. She remembered running into Weasley, or Weaselby as she had always called him at school, and some of his Auror colleagues from the Ministry. She remembered having more than one cocktail and thinking that Ron, as he apparently preferred to be called, was in fact rather charming and that maybe his hair wasn’t so terribly red after all. She wasn’t sure who made the first move but later when he whispered into her ear asking if she wanted to go home with him, she had said yes without hesitation. Even though she couldn’t remember their hours together vividly, she knew they had been good. A warm feeling spread throughout her body. Next to her Ron snored and the moment was broken. 

Pansy knew she had to get out of there before he woke up. He genuinely seemed like a good man but this could never be more than a one-night stand – the two of them just wouldn’t work. Thinking otherwise would just be stupid. Besides – they couldn’t start a relationship on Valentine’s day – they would be doomed even if they tried. Pansy took a deep breath. She sat up as quietly as she could and grabbed her wand from the nightstand. She didn’t bother picking up her scattered clothes, preferring to accio them to her once she was safely out of the bedroom. She put them on and walked towards the front door. She hesitated. Should she leave him a note explaining about the Valentine’s day curse? No. It was better just to leave. Forget that it ever happened and never see him again. Pansy shut the door behind her.


	48. February 17: No way back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by episode 60 of the Potterless Podcast in which they talked about Mundugs Fletcher and Mad-Eye's death. It's really short because I wrote on the bus after being at the movies (How to Train Your Dragon 3!).

Mundungus knew it was over. This wasn't something you came back from. Not even he could do that. He had left. When Voldemort had shown up, he had just left him. He had let the panic and the fear take control of his body. Had let it disapparate him to the dingy safe house in Sussex where he was now pacing. He ran his hands through his sweaty, dirty hair. They came away sticky but he didn't even take notice. 

This wasn't like the other times he had screwed up. He knew that. It wasn't like the time when he had left his post and Potter and his muggle cousin had been attacked by dementors. They had been fine. Mostly.

Mad-Eye wouldn't be fine. He would be dead. Mundungus knew that. When he had left the ex-Auror, he had left him for death. For Lord Voldemort. And he knew that there was no coming back from that.


	49. February 18: Burden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an episode of Harry Potter and the Sacred Text in which they discussed Dean's situation during the summer holiday after fourth year.

Dean was sitting outside in a lawn chair. The heat seemed just as stifling out in the garden as it had been inside of their house. Not a wind stirred and the sun blazed down from a clear sky. Dean was in the shade but he was still sweating like he had just run a marathon. He didn’t know if it was due solely to the heat or if the letter in his hands had something to do with it too. 

Dean had been reading a comic book when his owl Hammie had landed on the knee and delivered a letter addressed to him. He had known instantly that it was from his best friend – no one wrote quite as ugly as Seamus did. The content of the letter had made his pulse rise until he could feel his throat throbbing with its unsteady beat. Seamus’ mother wasn’t sure that he would be allowed to return to Hogwarts. 

When he had read those words, his mind hadn’t registered Seamus’ following attempts at descaling the situation by saying that he was trying to convince his mother to let him go back to school – Dean had just seen flashes of just how lonely he would be at Hogwarts without him. Sure, he had other friends, but no one he could talk to quite like he could talk to Seamus. The two of them always knew what needed to be said and what didn’t need to be said. 

The thought of spending time with Seamus again had been all that kept him going through this never-ending summer holiday. He hadn’t told his parents what had happened at the Triwizard Tournament – how Harry had returned with Cedric’s dead body, how he-who-must-not-be-named was back, how scared he was that someone might hurt his family because they were muggles. Dean didn’t want to burden them. He wanted to carry this fear alone. Or maybe not alone. He really wanted to carry it with his best friend.  


	50. February 23: Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven't updated in few days because I've been really busy with my thesis during the day and have had plans with friends almost every night, but I'm going to try to write some more drabbles to "catch up".
> 
> Like the previous drabble, this was inspired by the episode of Harry Potter and the Sacred Text in which they discussed Dean's situation during the summer holiday after fourth year. While the other story highlighted how Dean might be struggling with the fact that he has no one from the magical world to speak to this one takes the other perspective.

Dean was sitting outside in a lawn chair. The heat seemed just as stifling out in the garden as it had been inside of their house. Not a wind stirred and the sun blazed down from a clear sky. Dean was in the shade but he was still sweating like he had just run a marathon. He loved it though – had always loved hot summers, loved the feeling of being warm all the way through his body like he was becoming part of the summer itself. The only bad thing about it was that it was too hot to play football. 

Football was one of the things he missed most when he was at Hogwarts. After many years of trying, he had given up on trying to get Seamus to play with him, and all of the other students who had grown up in Muggle households just weren’t interested in it, as they said. How one could not be interested in the world’s greatest sport was beyond him. Here, in the neighborhood where he had grown up, everyone loved football and they played every night once the sun had set and temperatures had dropped low enough. They played for hours and talked about normal teenage things. And for a couple of hours, Dean could pretend that everything was normal, that he was normal, that a boy from his school hadn’t just died, that the darkest wizard of all time hadn’t just returned, that it was just a joke that his best friend might not be returning to Hogwarts. For a few blessed hours, he could jus be a kid who liked football. And for a few months, he could just be the Dean he had been before Hogwarts.


	51. February 23: An unexpected task

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by this week's episode of Harry Potter and the Sacred Text in which they discussed the relationship between Percy and his family and the fact that Sirius seems to be maturing in the chapter of book five they discussed.

It was well into the night but Percy was still sitting at his desk at the Ministry. He was working on some reports he was due to present to Minister Fudge tomorrow. It wasn’t that he had left the work to the last minute, obviously. He had simply accepted perhaps a few more assignments that he had time for lately. Perhaps. But he would do the work of course. He always did. Besides, his dark and sparsely furnished London flat wasn’t exactly a home one would long to return to. It wasn’t a home really. Home was the Burrow but he couldn’t go back there. Just an hour ago he had refused to let Erroll inside with a letter that was undoubtedly from his mother. 

Percy shook his head as if the action could make his thought of his family disappear from his mind and make room for what really mattered at the moment – his work. Just as he settled into it again there was a knock on one of the windows. Percy looked up to see a big black owl staring at him with big round eyes. It was carrying a small envelope. He didn’t recognize the bird but wouldn’t put it past some of the other Ministry employees to use their private owls to send him a message. 

“This better not be another change to the regulations,” he muttered to himself as he opened the window. The bird hopped in and placed the letter into his hand. Percy opened it and quickly realized that this had nothing to do with work. 

Dear Percy,  
After seeing your mother’s reaction at your family owl returning with her letter unopened, I feel obliged to write to you. If you had bothered to read her letter, you would have found that your father is currently in St. Mungo’s. He will live but he is in a bad state. Your mother needs you right now and you need to get over yourself. I don’t know if you know this but I left my family too. I was even younger then you are – still a student at Hogwarts. I left my family because my parents were backward, cruel, and abusive and I never regretted leaving them. Your family is kind, loving, and supportive, and your mother would take you back in a heartbeat. You need to think carefully about what you’re doing before the damage becomes too great. You need to come home.  
-Sirius  
PS: The bird bites and you deserve it. 

Just as Percy read the last words of Sirius’ letter, the big, black owl bit his right hand. He screamed as blood startled spilling from the wound and onto the letter. The bird flew out the window. It had clearly been instructed not to wait for a reply. He stared down at his own injury as he thought of his father. His father who was in the hospital and was in a bad state. Percy looked between his stack of unfinished reports and the letter from Sirius which was now contained more blood than ink. A battle was raging inside of him. What should he do?


	52. February 23: Baby boy Lupin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by both Potterless and Harry Potter and the Sacred Text discussing Tonks and Mad-Eye's relationship. I admit that I cried a bit writing this.

Tonks looked down at the beautiful baby boy in her arms. He had the same light green eyes as his father, but on few occasions, she thought that she had seen them change their shade if only for a second. She suspected that the child had inherited her skills but hadn’t had the heart to tell Remus yet. He was still panicking that their son might also have inherited his curse as he called it. Tonks could feel in her bones that their boy hadn’t but when it came to his lycanthropy, Remus was beyond reasoning. Right now, he seemed calm though. He was sitting at the side of her bed with one arm around her looking lovingly at the small human they had created. 

“What should we name him?” He asked. 

“Edward Alastor Lupin,” she answered in a heartbeat. “Unless you want to name him after your father of course,” she added. She hadn’t even known that she had decided on a name until the words left her mouth. But the name just felt right. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes. She still couldn’t believe that they were both gone – her father and her mentor, the two men who had meant most to her for the longest time. 

“I think that’s perfect,” Remus said softly as he kissed her on the forehead. Tonks cried silently – out of sadness for the men she had lost and out of happiness for the two she had gained.


	53. February 23: Please try smoking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble continues the Wolfstar story from the 15th of February and was also inspired by an Inspirobot quote.

“Wow!” Sirius said for what seemed like the seventeenth time. He and Remus were still lying in his bed, naked and utterly spent. “That was bloody great!” He kissed his boyfriend yet again. Before he uttered the words he knew he wouldn’t want to hear. “I really want a smoke now though”

“Why?” Remus groaned. “The whole point of this was to get you to stop smoking!” Sirius raised an eyebrow at him. “All right part of it.” He blushed slightly and Sirius couldn’t help smile. He loved the fact that he could make him blush about something so silly after what they had just done. 

“They always have a smoke after shagging in the Muggle movies and it always looks sooo good,” Sirius said. He sat up suddenly, “Maybe you should try smoking!” He exclaimed, “Then we can do it together! It can be our couple's thing”

“No way," Remus said looking disgusted. Sirius couldn't tell if it was just with the smoking or whether it had to do with his suggestion that they should have a couple's thing. 

“Come on! Please Remus! Please try smoking!”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Remus said, “I will not smoke and if you smoke again Sirius, I won’t sleep with you again. Ever.”

“What?!” Sirius yelled. “You’re not serious.”

“I am serious, Sirius.” He said stone-faced. 

“You mean to say that you will show a man around the garden's of heaven just to kick him out and tell him that he can’t ever enter again because he has a bad habit?”

“A vile habit. And yes.”

“You are devious, did you know that?” Sirius pouted as he lay down again. 

“Yes,” Remus said placing an arm around him, “And someday your lungs will thank me for it.”


	54. Febuary 23: A thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble (that makes me caught up with the number of drabbles I should have written so far) continues the Wolfstar story from "chapter" 46 and 53.

“What about quidditch? You could try out for the team with me and James next year. I’m sure you’d make a good chaser!” 

Remus looked up from his book, “I don’t think so. Quidditch is your and James’ thing. Besides if the matches happened to fall right after the full moon, I wouldn’t be able to play anyway. I’d just be a liability for the team.” He returned his gaze to his book looking a little sadder than before. Sirius hated seeing that look in his beautiful light green eyes.

“How about swimming? We could swim in the Black Lake – maybe meet some merpeople, maybe tease the Giant Squid.” He grinned at his boyfriend. 

“How about reading? Maybe our thing can be that we’re the couple that reads quietly together.” Remus said without even looking up. Sirius' grin became a pout.

“I’m just not that into books,” Sirius said. Remus finally put his book down completely. 

“Why are you obsessing over us doing everything together, Sirius?”

“I’m not! I just want us to do stuff together, you know. Have a couple's thing.” 

“All right, but we do lots of stuff together and we don’t need to have one thing that defines us as a couple. Certainly not if that thing involves searching for dangerous creatures in the Forbidden Forrest, playing quidditch, swimming in the Black Lake, or smoking.” Remus said. Sirius just continued to pout. “Where is this even coming from?” 

“Nowhere,” Sirius said not meeting his eyes. Remus looked at him for what seemed like a long time. 

“Do your parents not really do stuff together, Sirius?” His boyfriend finally met his eyes and shook his head slightly. Remus wasn’t surprised – Sirius parents didn’t seem like they had a very loving relationship with each other. “There not us, you know. They didn’t choose to be with each other. We did. We do.” Sirius nodded meekly at his words. “Come here.” Sirius came over and lay down, placing his head in Remus’ lap. Remus ran his fingers through his dark hair and started reading again. “If you want to, this could be our thing,” he said as he continued to stroke his hair. Even though Sirius didn’t answer him, Remus knew that he would be all right, that they would be.


	55. February 24: The morning after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble continues the Ron/Pansy story from the 16th of February.

When Ron woke up on the 15th of February, his head hurt. A lot. He remembered drinking way too many shots of Firewiskey at that new place in Diagon Alley. And he remembered bringing home a woman. Well not just any woman. Pansy Freaking Parkinson. Only she wasn’t in his bed anymore. And he couldn’t hear anyone moving around his flat. 

Ron reached into the drawer of his bedside table and got out a vial of the hangover potion he kept around for such occasions. Hermione had made him a huge badge when they were still together because she couldn’t handle his whining the day after he had been drinking. That had been one of her several grievances as it turned out. But it was all good – they were better as friends anyway. 

After drinking the potion, which worked instantly – relieving him of all pain and nausea – Ron got out of bed. He put on a pair of pants on the off chance that Pansy was still in the apartment and waiting to talk or something. Not that she seemed like the kind of person who would stick around for an awkward conversation the morning after. But then again – he hadn’t figured she would be the woman who would go home with him either. He always thought she hated him. 

Ron walked into the living room but there was no gorgeous woman sitting on his couch. Just as well, thought as he plopped down onto the worn piece of furniture. Even though they had had a good time last night, and even though Pansy was surprisingly funny and charming – something she had hidden quite well while in school – they probably wouldn’t work as a couple anyway. They were way too different. Ron told himself that it didn’t matter that she had left without saying anything. He had other plans for finding love.


	56. February 25: The other half

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by the women of Harry Potter and the Sacred text blessed Trelawney in today's episode which made me think of Lavender and Parvati.

Parvati had never been used to be being alone. Not for long anyway. For the first eleven years of her life, her family had always been there - her mother, her father, and of course Padma, her twin. “Where’s your other half?” People would always ask if Parvati ventured anywhere on her own – as if twins had to be in the same room or something awful would happen. 

Parvati hated the twin questions as she had dubbed them. “Can you read each other’s minds?” “Can you feel each other’s pain and stuff?” “Do you have a secret language?” “Have you ever switched places?” “Which one is the good twin?” Come on, as if the whole evil twin thing really happened that often outside of muggle soap operas. Parvati had grown tired of all of these questions many years ago, but in the past year, one had become especially hard for her to handle: “Where is your other half?” Because Parvati had had another halve. But it wasn’t her sister. And last year she had lost her. 

The wound left behind by Lavender’s death felt as fresh as ever, and when people jovially asked about her other half, Parvati felt as if someone was twisting pouring acid into it. It tore into her and it seemed like it would never end. She felt as if there was a hole in the world. A piece missing right beside her, right where Lavender used to be. From the moment they had met, they had hardly been apart. They had been like two magnets attracting each other. But now that Lavender was gone, it was as if Parvati was left spinning in place – going nowhere, doing nothing, just going around and around and around. With one half of herself missing where could she go?


	57. February 26: Typewriter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an writing prompt.

Arthur had never been one for writing. He detested the way blank pieces of parchment seemed to be looking up at him, judging him. For whenever he had dipped the tip of his quill in the ink, he never knew what to write. Well it wasn’t that he didn’t have an idea of what to write, he had quite a lot of ideas about what he wanted to write actually. The issue was that he didn’t know how to get his thoughts through the quill and onto the parchment. 

One day during the autumn, he had discussed this with some of his family members. Ron had suggested a Quick-Quotes Quill that could do the writing for him, but had been quick to explain that it would of course need to be fixed so it didn’t exaggerate everything it notated. Hermione, who had been the reason why Ron had had to hastily add this point to his suggestion, had proposed Arthur got a computer so he could write on that instead. This time Ron had been the one to shoot down the suggestion. Said something about how Arthur would just take the thing apart to get a better look at its insides… Arthur didn’t know where his son would get such an idea. 

A solution between Hermione and Ron had apparently been reached by the time his birthday came around. Levitating what seemed to be a rather heavy box, they had arrived with huge grins on their faces. Inside the box had been a typewriter – a non-magical, mechanical machine for writing that according to Ron would easier to put back together than a computer. Arthur had fallen in love with the machine instantly – the way the paper moved, the sound it made as it changed the line, and the music of the keys, oh the keys. 

After a short while, the entire Weasley family began receiving typed letters from Arthur every week. Sometimes he would just write to invite them to Sunday dinners – as if they didn’t already know they were invited to that. But other times he would write them stories. Stories about them and their family – about how Charlie first became interested in dragons, about the first time Ginny rode a broom, about all the things that Fred and George had gotten up to before they were even old enough to remember themselves. All the stories that Arthur had always wanted to write down so they could be preserved for his children were finally coming out.


	58. March 3: Sunbeam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've falled behind again (my thesis is sucking the happiness out of me dementor-style)... Anyway this drabble was inspired by a Facebook writing group prompt.

Dean couldn’t remember if he and Luna had ever talked during their secret DA meetings during his fifth year. He wasn’t sure if that they ever exchanged more than a few words during his sixth year when he had gone out with Ginny, who was one of Luna’s only friends. He was, however, completely certain that he was falling in love with her here in the dungeon of the Malfoy Manor. 

When Dean had been taken there by the snatchers who had caught him, he had felt relieved that he wouldn’t be alone, that she was there. He had instantly felt guilty for feeling that way, because of course Luna didn’t deserve to be there. None of them did. He had spent days banging his hands against the door but it was only ever opened when they were fed – and they were always bound by the incarcerous spell before Wormtail, as the others called him, entered. When Dean had bloodied his hands and spent all of his anger, he had begun to focus on the only positive aspect of being locked in the dungeon. Luna. 

Right now, Luna was leaning her head against his shoulder as they slumped against on of the cold stone walls. She was drawing a pattern on his thigh with one of her slender fingers. Dean didn’t know what the pattern was, only that Luna’s fingers were dangerously close to the exact place he wanted them the most. They hadn’t done anything like that of course – they weren’t alone after all. 

“Uhm Luna, I think you need to stop that,” he said in a voice that sounded a lot breathier than he had anticipated. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” she said, not really sounding sorry at all. “I suppose we’ll save that for when we’re free again. Give us something to look forward to”

“You really think that we’ll be free again?” 

“Of course, Dean.” Luna said. She didn’t elaborate, didn’t explain, just uttered the words with such conviction that he couldn’t help believe her. She was after all his sunbeam in a world of darkness.


	59. March 3: A pack of cigarettes doesn’t last forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by an inspirobot quote which was also used for the title.

“You have got to stop acting like a teenager, Sirius!” Remus said as Sirius lit another cigarette. They were sitting in the old library and he had demonstratively put his boots on the table. 

“I’m not acting like a teenager, Money. If I was I’d be in my room ja…”

“Stop!” Remus said angrily, “Just stop.” He sighed, “I know how much you hate being cooped up here. But you have to stop alternating between sulking and smoking and making bad jokes. You have to stop being rude to everyone who visits and you have to stop taking your anger out on Kreacher.” 

Sirius didn’t say anything. Remus didn’t understand how he felt about being a prisoner is this cursed house. He couldn’t. He had tried to tell him that on many occasions but his attempts at adult reasoning had a tendency to lead to screaming matches like the one that had started this very conversation. 

“What do you expect me to say, Mooney?” He simply said. 

“I want you to say that you’ll do better. That you’ll try to be happy about the fact that you are alive, that Harry is alive, that we are all fighting!” Remus said. 

Except that he wasn’t fighting, Sirius thought. How could he when he was stuck here? He had tried explaining this to Remus too, but he didn’t have the energy to try again. “Fine,” he said forcing a smile onto his face. It was nothing like the winning one he used to flash at his friend. “On one condition.”

“What?”

“That you get me some more cigarettes. A pack of cigarettes doesn’t last forever after all and if I’m going to stop sulking, I at least want to continue smoking. Surely you can give an old friend that much.”


	60. March 17: Serenade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first drabble I've done in a long while because my thesis is figuratively killing me and literally stealing all of my writing energy.. Oh well, this drabble is GoT because I've been rewatching the entire series in order to get ready for the final season! The prompt for the drabble is from a Facebook writing group.

Brienne awoke with a sudden jolt. Before her mind was fully conscious, she was sitting up, her hand already on Oathkeeper, which she always kept within her reach. Brienne focused her senses on what had awakened her. It sounded as if one of cats of the Castle Black was dying right outside her window. As she listened more intently, she realized it wasn't a cat. It was a person. Singing. Or doing something akin to singing. Brienne sighed deeply when she recognized the boisterous voice. It was the wilding - Tormund. The one that had been ogling her for days. The one she had been staring daggers at. Apparently, he hadn't understood that she wasn't interested. Not bothering to cover herself, Brienne rolled out of her bed. Picking up her chamber pot, she walked over to the window. When she opened it, the singing from below stopped.

"Most beautiful woman I..." Tormund began. 

Without letting him finish, she emptied the contents of the chamber pot onto her serenader. Maybe now he would understand, Brienne thought as she laughed walking back to her bed.


End file.
